


take me home

by sylwrites



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Actor!Jughead, Alternate Universe, Bullying, F/M, Film nerd!Betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: When Jughead used to imagine living in New York, it was always Manhattan - not a small town upstate. At least the shoot forSweetwateris only seven months.AU.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off of a wonderful insta edit by the one and only jeemyjamz on tumblr. Check it out if you aren't familiar with it: [part 1](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/162889459500/bughead-au-actorjughead-pt-1-part-13-of-an-au), [part 2](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/163633917650/bughead-au-unpopular-film-nerdbetty-pt-2-part), [part 3](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/163672225260/bughead-au-insta-edit-w-actorjughead) \- noting of course that if you aren't, part 3 does spoil the ending :)
> 
> I have taken a few liberties with pacing and timing to better suit the flow of a fic versus an edit but have tried to stick as close to the source material as possible. Thanks goes to jeemyjamz and jandjsalmon for their help workshopping this.

_All my memories gather round her,_  
_miner's lady, stranger to blue water,_  
_dark and dusty, painted on the sky,  
misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye_

  * John Denver



 

New York City.

 

He dreamed of it for years, as a kid growing up poor in the Valley. Los Angeles was the home of showbiz, but that was never Jughead’s goal. He wanted happiness, opportunity, freedom from the oppression of poverty and restriction that his family seemed doomed to live under in perpetuity - and New York had always seemed like the space where it was possible. This impression waned a bit as he grew older, fell into acting, and gained a better understanding of the power of media influence on that sort of thing, but old habits die hard and Jughead still holds a bit of a special place in his heart for New York. It’s the place that almost was.

 

He’d gotten here anyway, in a roundabout way. Sure, he lives in LA, just as he has for his whole life, but as a young model and actor he’d been sent to New York on multiple occasions. And every time, that bit of magic creeps back in. It’s the city that never sleeps - ironic, he supposes, that he’s here in NYC now to do some pre-shoot promotional photos for a movie that’s going to take him to a small town in upstate New York state. A place that probably _only_ sleeps.

 

Jughead is pretty excited about the movie, in all honesty. Admitting that publicly would probably ruin the brooding-young-actor aesthetic he has going on, but he is. It’s called _Sweetwater,_ and it has the ability to give him some much-needed acting cred (the curse of being a sort-of-child actor, he supposes). He’s been in the business for nearly ten years now, but as a former teen star he’s had a lot of media attention for reasons other than his talent. Additionally, the movie is based on a popular book and is expected to nab a decent box office, which his agent says can only help, not hurt, his future prospects.

 

Besides, his costars are pretty cool. One is Archie Andrews, another teen-star-done-good who Jughead has known for years, and the other is an actress named Veronica Lodge that he has oddly gotten along with fairly well despite their incredible personality differences. He and Veronica are both in NYC to do an _Entertainment Weekly_ photoshoot for ‘buzzworthy upcoming movies’, for which _Sweetwater_ apparently qualifies. The studio has paid for a pretty ritzy hotel for the couple of days that he’s been here, which is nice considering it has free laundry service and most of his belongings have already been packed up in anticipation of his move for the seven-month shoot.

 

Jughead flops down in a comfy armchair and stares out the giant sheet of windows that lines one whole side of his hotel room. He’s due to leave for the photoshoot pretty soon, just as soon as Veronica notifies the photographer that she’s departed from her previous commitment, a short film. It’s that short film that got him here in the first place - the photoshoot was supposed to happen in LA, but Veronica’s filming commitments had shifted schedules and he’d been flown out last-minute to NYC. Not that he really minds; NYC is great, and he’d be headed east anyway to make it to River - Riverglen? Whatever it was called - except for the fact that he’d already gotten his car shipped out east from LA.

 

No big deal, he’d thought; he’ll just get a ride with Veronica upstate. But apparently not - she drives a two-seater sports car that has zero room for him once all of her required clothing and valuables for the long shoot are included, and despite his offer to pay for shipping she’d insisted that she drive it all up herself. The result of this is that in a few hours, once Jughead is done with the shoot, he’s going to be heading upstate on the _bus._ He’s not above the bus, per se - he’d chosen it over getting a private driver or renting a car with a hefty drop-off fee, since old financial habits died hard - but public transportation always came with the opportunity for lots of uncomfortable interactions with people.

 

Jughead’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he digs his hand in to grab it. The caller ID informs him that it’s his ex-girlfriend Sabrina calling, and since they’re on pretty good terms Jughead slides his thumb across to answer it. “Hey.”

 

“Hey Jug. You in New York still?”

 

He glances out the window again at the expanse of city below. “Yep. Couple more hours still, once Veronica and I finish this photoshoot. What’s up?”

 

“Cool,” Sabrina says, her voice full of a suppressed excitement. They hadn’t dated for that long, but he’s known her for long enough to know the telltale signs that she had something _just so cool_ to tell him. So he sits back and waits for her to continue. “Guess who I have a date with?”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a friend to talk to about this that isn’t your ex?”

 

“Please, I have lots of friends, and if this is making you uncomfortable that’s even more reason for me to talk to you about it,” she jokes. “But no, I’m calling you because - it’s Trula!”

 

“Twyst?” Jughead asks, as if there’s another Trula in their immediate lives.

 

“Yeah, Trula Twyst. I ran into her at a party last night and we got to talking, and next thing I know we’re making plans to go check out that new Ethiopian place on Sunset.”

 

Jughead chuckles a little. “That’s great, Sab. I’m glad that both of my ex-girlfriends have found happiness, even if it’s with each other. Please don’t spend the entire night comparing notes on me.”

 

“We have better things to talk about,” Sabrina dismisses, “besides, there’s not much to tell. ‘Oh, he was nice and respectful to you, too?’ Not salacious enough. Maybe if you were Andrews…”

 

“Hey,” Jughead defends, “Archie’s a good guy.”

 

“He is,” Sabrina agrees. “He’s definitely, uh - prolific, though.”

 

Jughead can’t fight her on that, so instead he holds the phone back from his ear, notices a text from the photographer indicating that it’s time to head downstairs, and then bids Sabrina farewell.

 

The shoot is being done at the hotel he’s staying at, in one of the lower conference rooms. It’s been set up with a heavy fabric backdrop and lots of bright lighting, but before he can get close to inspect it Jughead is whisked away for some light makeup touch-ups.

 

“I always did look great with dark lashes,” Jughead says to the makeup artist with a wink, causing her to blush slightly.

 

“Quit flirting, Jones.”

 

Jughead looks over his shoulder and spots Veronica Lodge walking toward him, a Birkin bag over one arm, looking every bit the entitled Upper East Side princess that he knows her to be. Veronica is a strange creature, the girl who became a famous actress despite her family’s wealth and not because of it. He’s known her loosely over the last few years, since they’re around the same age and they roll in the same circles in Hollywood, but they’re not necessarily what he’d consider _friends._ He has a feeling that after seven months stuck together in River-whatever, they were going to end up either best friends or killing each other.

 

(But definitely _not_ dating, regardless of what the media was already saying. Contrary to popular opinion, he’s actually not inclined to jump into bed with every girl he talks to. And even if he were, Veronica is the complete opposite of his type, and he knows that he's not hers either. She'd said as much to him at a party in LA a few days beforehand, when she'd eyed up Archie and proclaimed that while she envied Jughead’s cheekbones, the obvious ginger was more her speed.)

 

(Jughead is okay with this. He's known Archie since his early days in the industry, when they’d co-starred in a terrible kids’ movie, and since then Archie has been consistently the most girl-crazy guy that he knows. Yeah, he's a little bored by the whole costars-fucking concept but figures that at minimum, watching yet another one of Archie's celebrity relationships implode could be an interesting way to pass seven months in a dull small town.)

 

“Just letting out my natural charisma,” Jughead says passively. “Thanks for the free trip to NYC, by the way. Minus pain and suffering for the bus ride.”

 

“You'll love it. Man of the common people, and all that.” Veronica falls dramatically into the makeup chair next to him. “Okay, Patricia. Make me beautiful.”

 

“You're already beautiful, Miss Lodge,” the makeup artist replies automatically, which prompts Jughead to roll his eyes and pull his phone out. _The common people, indeed,_ he thinks. Well, if that's his place, then he has some communication to do with his people. With a teasing smile to Veronica, he begins recording on his Instagram story.

 

“Patricia, can you repeat what you said to Veronica, please?”

 

\--

 

With his duffel slung over his shoulder, Jughead hands his ticket to the driver and steps onto the bus. It’s a lot larger than he anticipated and pretty full, considering that Riverdale _(Riverdale, Riverdale,_ he’s been reminding himself) doesn’t seem to him like it would be a hot-ticket destination. He’d initially strategized to sit somewhere near the back, ideally in a rear-facing seat, so as to minimize the amount that he’ll be recognized. He’s even wearing a baseball cap instead of his signature crown beanie just remain more inconspicuous.

 

(He still can’t believe that Veronica is making him take the bus. A small part of Jughead had assumed that she was kidding, somewhere deep down, and that when push came to shove she would move her stuff out of the way and let him get in her car. But she hadn’t, and now here he was: on public transit, going to Riverdale, NY. _Ugh.)_

 

Jughead spots an empty row of two rear-facing seats toward the back. The front-facing set opposite them has one occupant, a blonde girl that he figures is about his age. She has headphones in and is already reading a book, not paying attention to her fellow travellers as they occupy the last of the empty rows. Jughead figures she’s the most harmless option, so he hitches his bag up on his shoulder again and heads down the aisle toward her.

 

“Is anyone sitting here?” he asks, dropping his duffel onto the aisle seat.

 

The girl looks up at his action and the sound of his voice. She tugs an earbud out of one of her ears and shakes her head with a friendly smile. “No, be my guest,” she says, leaning forward with a hand extended. “I’m Betty.”

 

Jughead shakes her hand somewhat absentmindedly, finding himself distracted by her eyes. They’re bright green and huge, as if a Margaret Keane painting came to life and lost its vaguely creepy aura. “Nice to meet you,” he says, sitting down next to the window. He looks out at the bus depot lot and watches as the street begins to move. So far, so good. It was only a couple of hours; he would survive.

 

He glances back to the girl and sees that she’s already turned her attention away from him and back to her book. It’s tucked in one of her hands and resting primly on the knee of one of her legs, which are neatly crossed. _(And incredible,_ he thinks for a moment. She must run or do something similar, because they’re long and toned and look particularly amazing considering the length of the denim shorts she’s wearing.) He risks another glance and then forces his attention away, making his eyes fall on her book again.

 

And that too piques Jughead’s interest. It’s called _Shoot Like Tarantino,_ and there’s only one Tarantino that it could possibly be about. She seems to be about three-quarters of the way through, so he figures by now she must have a pretty decent idea of the book’s quality, and before he knows it he’s talking again.

 

“Is that good?”

 

The girl - Betty - glances up again. She’s confused for a moment, so he nods to the book in her hand and she immediately breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, yes!” she says enthusiastically. “It’s fascinating. It covers some of the technical aspects behind a lot of Tarantino’s films. The sections about the more - uh - violent sequences are especially interesting. They go over the angles and the trickier camera techniques. Really cool.”

 

Jughead is definitely intrigued now - not necessarily by the book, but by Betty. He wouldn’t have pegged a pretty blonde girl to be the type to be into that side of the industry, but the look on her face is genuine and open and it’s clear that she’s not putting on a front. “That’s awesome,” he says, meaning it. “I take it you’re a QT fan then?”

 

Betty raises an eyebrow at him. “Who isn’t?”

 

“People who don’t like groundbreaking cinema,” Jughead answers. That makes her chuckle softly, and _fuck,_ she even has a pretty laugh.

 

“True,” she says. “What’s your favourite?”

 

“To be totally cliche, _Reservoir Dogs.”_ He shrugs. “His newer stuff is great, but the earlier work - it just shows what a different perspective he had on filmmaking from the beginning.”

 

Betty nods fervently. “Filmmaking, and also storytelling, I think. The sort-of ambiguous ending? Who would’ve done that in the early nineties?”

 

“Exactly!” Jughead almost claps his hands. “What’s your favourite?”

 

 _“Kill Bill,_ of the ones he’s actually directed. But if we’re just talking movies that Tarantino’s had a hand in, then _Natural Born Killers._ The way it’s written - I can’t believe it had me rooting for Mickey and Mallory the whole way through, even though they were objectively pretty horrible people.”

 

Jughead grins at her. _“Natural Born Killers,_ huh? Bit of a Tarantino hipster, are we?”

 

Betty’s jaw drops open slightly. “Excuse me, _Reservoir Dogs?”_ She lowers her voice slightly to emulate his. “‘I just like his earlier work.’ Give me a break,” she teases.

 

“You’ve got me there,” he laughs, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. Jughead sets his hat beside him on the seat and then looks back up at her. “I’m Jughead, by the way. I just realized I didn’t introduce myself earlier when you did.”

 

Betty bites her lip shyly and stares at her fidgeting hands. “I know who you are,” she says. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I imagine these kinds of situations must be horrible.”

 

Jughead lets his eyes wander over her again. She’s quite beautiful in an obviously natural sort of way, but she also just seems so … wholesome. The ponytail, the t-shirt, the Herschel backpack sitting next to her. And the _politeness,_ too, including respecting his privacy enough to not point out that _hey, he’s Jughead Jones, famous actor!_ \- and instead not even speaking to him until he’d started a conversation. He wonders if she’s from the city or from Riverdale.

 

“Meeting nice people isn’t horrible,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It mostly just becomes a bit of a logistical issue if a hundred people all want photos with me and I need to be somewhere quick.”

 

Betty nods slowly. “That’s reasonable.” She’s still chewing on her lip, and it’s obvious she wants to say something. Jughead waits patiently, and then finally, she does. “I’m excited for you guys to film _Sweetwater,”_ she says. “I really loved the book. It was - I dunno, I was going through some stuff a while back, and it was great to be able to get lost in this amazing story. I’m sure the movie will be just as great.”

 

“That’s nice of you to say. I’m looking forward to shooting it.”

 

She clasps her hands and uncrosses her legs with a sense of finality and something almost resembling relief, then looks out the window at the passing fields briefly before turning back to him. “I hope you enjoy your time in Riverdale, too. It’s really a nice place.”

 

Jughead is still watching her with interest. Every move that she makes seems oddly purposeful in a way that he hasn’t seen with anybody else before. He wants to study her. “Are you from Riverdale?” he asks.

 

Betty nods and smiles. “Yes, born and raised. It’s about seventy-five years old, we just had our jubilee a few years ago. Believe it or not, it was founded around the maple syrup industry…”

 

She continues talking about the town, giving him a (not-so) brief history and detailing some of the town’s finer points, including proximity to a beautiful river and lots of great state parks. For as little time as Jughead has spent in NYC, he’s spent even less time in New York state, and much of what Betty’s telling him is new information. He mentally catalogues it, trying to balance actually listening to her with just watching her, but it’s hard. She speaks softly but animatedly, and occasionally throws in a couple of hand gestures for emphasis that make him grin. Mostly, he just sits and smiles as she talks, and finds after a while that he’s really enjoying himself. Usually, he tries to avoid prolonged fan interactions - they’re almost always awkward - but Betty’s treating him like a normal person so far, and actually seems far more interested in talking about other people’s films or the town that she’s from than peppering him with questions about his dating life.

 

It’s refreshing.

 

They continue talking, mostly about movies and some of the more recent high-quality television miniseries, and it’s not until the driver notifies the entire bus that they’re five miles out of Riverdale that Jughead realizes he’s spent the entire drive talking to a random girl that he just met. He doesn’t think he could spend an hour and a half talking to _Archie,_ let alone someone he barely knows, and if she lives in Riverdale … _no,_ he thinks. He can’t ask for her number. That’s weird. He isn’t even totally sure how old she is.

 

Instead, he gently nudges her toe with his and says, “Hey, Betty. Before we get there, just because it might be a little crazy - I wanted to say thanks for treating me like a normal person. It was a nice break from the usual.”

 

Betty smiles at him and shrugs nonchalantly, as though not understanding why anyone would act any differently. “You’ll probably get enough girls fawning over you when we get to Riverdale,” she informs him. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in the town in years. I figured you needed a couple hours of peace more than I needed a photo.”

 

There she is again, Jughead thinks. The sentiment hits him harder than he expects it to, and he says, “Let’s take one.”

 

She looks surprised. “You sure?”

 

He shrugs. “Nobody is watching, it won’t become a big thing right now.” He shoves his duffel bag onto the floor and pats the seat beside him.

 

Betty smiles and pulls her cell phone out of her backpack. She sits delicately next to Jughead and they snap a quick selfie, then she returns to her seat and puts it away. “I’ll wait to post it until you’re out of a public place,” she promises. “Oh, we’re in town, look!”

 

Jughead watches as she edges closer to the window and stares out of it. She’s smiling at the quaint buildings of her hometown as they replace the view of fields beside the highway. He follows her gaze and looks out as well, taking in the place that he’ll be calling home for seven months. It doesn’t seem so bad; very all-American, very stereotypical, but not in a negative way. He decides that he likes it, especially if everyone in this town is like Betty.

 

They pull up at the station in short order, since the town really isn’t that big and there aren’t that many places for the bus to go. There’s supposed to be somebody waiting for him - Veronica’s personal butler, who she apparently sent to pick him up after (likely) feeling bad for making him take the bus in the first place - but he needs to wait until the station clears out before he can find the older man. Jughead tugs his hat back on his head.

 

Betty stands with her bag on the seat beside him and slowly repacks several books. She’s taking a lot longer than necessary, and when he raises an eyebrow at her she whispers that nobody seems to have noticed him, and she’s just blocking the view until there are less people. “Then you should be able to leave without anyone bothering you,” she adds, glancing quickly over her shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “It was really nice meeting you, Betty.”

 

She smiles and slings her backpack over one shoulder. “You too. I hope you have a really good time here! Best of luck.” With a little wave, she turns and walks down the aisle, stopping to help an older woman who is having difficulty with the few stairs near the front.

 

Jughead’s eyes follow her; she’s bringing up the rear of the crowd who are exiting, true to her word. He takes the opportunity she’s given him and makes sure he hasn’t left anything behind in the seat, then grabs his duffel and heads out. He nods at the driver on his way past, his brain still flirting with the idea of getting her phone number, but by the time he locates Smithers on the platform, she’s already gone.

 

-

 

The studio has paid for the cast and crew to live in long-stay apartment suites in a fancy building called the Pembrooke, but due to some scheduling mishaps they won’t be ready for a few days (nobody’s fault, though Jughead has decided to casually blame Veronica anyway, just because). Most of the cast won’t arrive until then anyway and/or aren’t staying for the entire duration of the shoot, so it really only impacts himself and Veronica. As a result, when he gets in the car with Smithers, he heads to a local hotel that actually ends up being pretty nice.

 

This experience has been full of surprises so far, and even though Jughead has always sought routine and stability, he can’t bring himself to mind this time.

 

He has tentative dinner plans with Veronica, which he knows will probably fuel the ridiculous relationship rumours that have already started about them. Since they’re utterly, completely false, he doesn’t really give a shit, but his publicist will probably be annoyed. Jughead texts her a heads up and then starts messaging Archie with his first impressions of the town, since he won’t be arriving for a few more days.

 

He flops back on the bed, waiting for Veronica to be ready, and scrolls through his Instagram feed. There’s not much interesting, save for a very stylized photo of Veronica in her sports car on her account. Jughead ignores it and turns his attention to his ‘recently tagged’ section, which is usually a dog’s breakfast of fan photos, weird photo manipulations, and god knows what else. He sees the usual reposts of his own photos, and in his haste to skip over them he nearly misses a new fan photo.

 

It’s him and Betty, smiling on the bus. He ‘likes’ it, then takes a closer look. There are a couple of rude comments on it already, which is pretty par for the course when he’s tagged in a photo, but also a lot of “oh my god!”-type responses, which are also typical. Jughead clicks on her profile and goes through a couple of her past Instagram posts, mainly out of curiosity.

 

It’s pretty sparse, with posts every month or couple of months - her with a blanket apparently on a hike with her sister, a screenshot of a poster for _The Breakfast Club,_ a shot of an old drive-in that Jughead doesn’t recall seeing on the way into town. There are a couple of other pictures as well, but it generally seems pretty low-key. He clicks on one, interested in the caption of the drive-in photo, and frowns deeply as he reads the comments. He clicks on others and is horrified to see that the rude comments on the photo of him weren’t just from ‘fans’ of his but seemingly from people that she knows, and who have clearly been bullying her online for months.

 

She’d been so _nice._ Jughead doesn’t understand it.

 

He feels a little bit like he’s prying, and even though the whole world does that to him, he knows it doesn’t feel great to be examined in that way. So he abandons his review of her Instagram history and returns to the photo of him. On a whim, he comments on it, then decides to follow her on the off-chance that if she messages him, he’ll be alerted immediately instead of having to dig through the crazy mess of the ‘other’ folder.

 

Jughead closes Instagram and updates his twitter, then gets a message from Veronica and heads down to meet her in the lobby of the hotel. There are a couple of people with cameras standing outside, and he presses his lips together in slight irritation before putting a neutral expression on his face and following Veronica out the door.

 

_Here we go._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never done something based off somebody else's fan-work before, and I'm a little nervous about it, so please leave a comment and validate me hahah


	2. two

_ “I listened to an almost forgotten sound within myself as if my heart, long stopped, were calmly beginning to beat again.” _

  * Albert Camus, Return to Tipasa



  
  


Her feet hit the dirt with dull, light thumps. She closes her eyes very briefly to focus on the feeling of the air against her face, then opens them and listens for the echoing footsteps that are following her. Betty turns and glances over her shoulder, eyes falling on the man running behind her, and she flashes a grin before picking up the pace.

 

“Come on, Kevin, keep up!”

 

Kevin Keller, occasional running buddy and all-around best friend extraordinaire, flips her the bird and quickens his steps. He finally catches up, runs beside Betty for a few seconds, and then grabs her wrist. “Slow down, Flo-Jo. I can’t match this pace  _ and  _ get all the gossip at the same time.” 

 

Betty gives him a rueful smile and slows her pace slightly. “There’s no gossip to tell, Kev.”

 

“Hello, you met  _ Jughead Jones.”  _ Kevin ducks underneath an overhanging branch and turns with the curve of the trail they’re following through the woods near the river. “And based on that picture, he is still as gorgeous as I remember him being from  _ Indifferent.  _ Did you cut yourself on his cheekbones?” 

 

Betty giggles. “No. He was really nice, though. We talked about movies and I told him a little about Riverdale.”

 

“Ever the good ambassador, Miss Cooper,” Kevin quips. “Mayor McCoy should pay you a commission.”

 

“That’d be one way to spend my year off.” Betty grits her teeth and sprints up a hill, slowing to a jog once she reaches the top and then even further to a walk. Kevin falls in step, panting with gratitude, and rests his hands on his lower back. “You okay?” she asks him.

 

He nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “My endurance is just not where yours is. Seriously Betty, wow.”

 

Betty blushes a little and wanders a bit closer to the edge of a steep dirt hill. At the bottom of it is the slim, rocky beach of the river. The water is cascading over the larger stones near the edge, moving swiftly enough that the algae doesn’t have a chance to catch. If only everything in life was more like that.

 

“It’s kind of a stress relief thing,” she says carefully, knowing that Kevin is familiar enough with her personal issues to be able to read between the lines. 

 

Kevin comes to stand beside her, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thank god we’re doing this in the morning,” he remarks. “It’s already too hot outside for this level of activity. I don’t know how people run marathons in the afternoon.” 

 

“Your body adjusts, I think.” Betty crouches down and grabs a smooth rock from the ground. She tosses it down the hill and watches it land in the water with a satisfying splash. “But yeah, I prefer mornings. Plus I have to work at the library this afternoon.”

 

“Right, Mondays.” Kevin’s footsteps crunch on the ground, and when Betty glances over she sees him peering down the rest of the trail. “So how was New York? Apart from the celeb sighting on the way back. Did you like the new doctor?”

 

Betty’s gaze is still fixed on the river. She doesn’t move yet; even with Kevin, it can be difficult to talk about her mental health, and she finds that focusing on an arbitrary point helps her get through it. “Yeah,” she replies softly. “I liked her.” She’s self-aware enough to recognize the irony in that she’s having a little difficulty speaking about a trip that she’d taken specifically to meet a new therapist who would be hopefully helping her manage her mental health. But it’s true, she  _ had  _ liked her; Dr. Morris was a younger woman in her mid-thirties that was very unlike the older men that she’d seen so far otherwise. 

 

“You think you’re gonna keep seeing her?” 

 

“I think so, yeah.” Betty chews on her bottom lip and stands up, stretching her legs out. “Mostly on Skype. It’s better to meet in person the first time, but check-in sessions I can do remotely. Which is good, I like the city but it’s a lot of time to go there just for an hour meeting with my therapist once a week. But I think she’ll be good, she has a lot of experience with panic disorders. Plus she remembers more of what it’s like to be an eighteen-year-old girl than my previous therapists and I think that’ll make a difference.”

 

Kevin returns to Betty’s side, and a moment later she feels him put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m really glad to hear that, Betty.” He tugs her into a half-hug. “You’ve been so strong. I hope if I ever have to deal with this, I have half the grace that you have.” 

 

Betty closes her eyes for a moment, letting his words soak in.  _ Embrace gratitude,  _ she tells herself.  _ You deserve it.  _ She nods slowly and opens her eyes, ignoring the faint burn of tears, and leans into her friend. “Thanks, Kev,” she says, voice a bit choked. “Depression sucks. Anxiety sucks. But I’m getting better, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that if it weren’t for you and Polly. And even my parents. Support systems are important, it turns out.”

 

“Alice Cooper has a heart,” Kevin jokes, squeezing her shoulder. “Who would’ve thought?”

 

“Definitely not me two years ago, fighting to be allowed to go to Pop’s at 8:30 in the evening,” Betty admits. She pulls away from Kevin and leans down to touch her toes, feeling a nice stretch in her hamstrings. “Okay, you ready to get going? I’ll race you to the point and back!”

 

She takes off without waiting for an answer, leaving Kevin yelling affectionate profanities behind her. Betty giggles to herself as she tears through the trail, letting leaves whip her in the face and hopping over familiar protruding roots with the practiced ease of someone who’s ran the same trail hundreds of times. Her muscles are burning with the effort and her lungs feel tight, but it’s exhilarating and it’s this feeling that Betty has been chasing during the months since her diagnosis.

 

_ Depression. Panic disorder.  _ Betty remembers thinking of those things as being very specific and predictable. She couldn’t be depressed; on the contrary, she was making all her deadlines and meeting all the right people - she’d never been more productive. The panic attacks weren’t that regular, maybe one every few months, and they just meant that she wasn’t trying hard enough. She was fine. Totally and completely fine. Those words had definitions, and Betty Cooper absolutely didn’t fit.

 

Until that day at Pop’s.

 

After, when she was officially diagnosed, it became immediately and painfully clear to Betty just how wrong she’d been. They aren’t well-defined, specific conditions to be understood in theory by the masses. Hell, she fucking  _ has  _ them, and she doesn’t understand them in any way - theory, practice, whatever. 

 

Things have never been so abstract, and she hates it.

 

But sometimes, in small moments like this, Betty can get a little bit of ‘before’ back. The Lexapro helps, but there are other things too, like trail running by the river. The air on her face is the same as it was before things had gotten to be too much. The splash of water from the rock she tosses in the river, the sound of her feet on the dirt, and the all-consuming burn of effort from a good workout - it’s all the same. Sometimes, these small reminders are all she needs.

 

Besides, life has been on the upswing lately. She’s gotten a new therapist, she has a good friend and a supportive family, and she finally feels on track. Plus - sure, she’s not totally immune to the draws of celebrity, and Betty got to meet an actor yesterday who’s going to be making one of her favourite books into a movie. And he’d been  _ nice,  _ which was just so refreshing, because Betty’s never been that popular with kids her own age and friendliness is something that she values highly in others. 

 

Truth be told, meeting Jughead had been a nice surprise after what was kind of a stressful trip to NYC. They’d gotten to talk about movies and books - two of Betty’s favourite things, since when you’re a social outcast your closest friends soon become any variety of methods through which you can avoid your life. That’s doubly true for Betty: she’d decided six months ago that she was going to keep charging forward through the slog of real life, but the escape of different cinematic or literary universes was still a welcome relief at times.

 

Betty easily beats Kevin to the turning point of the trail, then they hike back to his car at a moderate but brisk pace. “I should come out with you every morning,” he pants from slightly behind her. “I’d be in fighting shape in no time.”

 

“Those one-on-one workouts with Moose not doing you any good?” Betty teases. “Or maybe you guys are spending a little less time working out in the gym and a little more time working out somewhere else?”

 

“Elizabeth Cooper, how dare you. I am a  _ gentleman,”  _ Kevin says with feigned offense, holding a hand to his chest. He lets a moment pass, then winks at Betty. “Somewhere else like that alcove of trees near Willow Trail--”

 

Betty claps her hands over her ears. “Too much information!” she proclaims, smiling.

 

“I forgot, your poor innocent ears,” Kevin jokes. “Though maybe not that innocent for long - I noticed that your new best friend Jughead Jones, every little girl and boy’s dream boyfriend, followed you on Instagram. Last I checked, he didn’t follow that many people. Maybe he’s interested in a little more than your encyclopedic knowledge of film history?”

 

“Give me a break, Kev.” Betty shakes her head and laughs. “He’s a famous actor who dates models. I’m sure he has better prospects than some girl he met on a  _ bus.”  _

 

“I don’t know,” he responds in a sing-song voice, “what if Jughead’s tired of all the hot brunettes he’s been dating and wants to see if blondes really are more fun?”

 

“That’s not the saying, Kev.” She elbows her friend playfully in the side, earning herself a smile from him, and then with a grin she takes off running again.

  
  


\--

  
  


After her run with Kevin, Betty goes home, showers, and gets dressed in a pair of jeans and a casual tank top. She takes a short nap, waking in time to throw a cardigan in her backpack and then starts off on her walk to the library. Her shift begins at one o’clock, and even though she’s technically just volunteering, she doesn't want to keep anyone waiting. 

 

The library is either a two minute drive or a fifteen minute walk, depending on her pace, and today the weather is so perfect that Betty's not sure how anyone could possibly choose the former option over the latter. There are a couple of filming notices already up near City Hall, which Betty had heard (from Kevin, whose sources were dubious at best) was supposed to be standing in for a courthouse in a pivotal scene from  _ Sweetwater.  _ She takes a photo with her phone and then sends it to Kevin, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. A major Hollywood movie, filming in little Riverdale of all places. And even though the production is supposed to be here for awhile, Betty's pretty sure she's not going get used to it. 

 

The first seven minutes of Betty’s walk are peaceful. There’s a faint breeze rustling her ponytail and dancing across her shoulders, and it feels nice. The sun is warm on her face and nearly bright enough that she is contemplating reaching for her sunglasses. She decides against it and instead dips her head a little, already hearing her mother’s voice in her head, lecturing her about the harmful events of UVA and UVB rays.

 

“Hey, Mini-Cooper.”

 

Betty’s head snaps up. She glances to the left to where she’d heard the voice and sees the former star of the Riverdale High Bulldogs football team, self-proclaimed ladies man, and all-around creep Reggie Mantle leaning out of the window of a late-model truck. He gives a low whistle and winks at her. 

 

“Hi, Reggie,” Betty says, looking straight ahead again and continuing on the sidewalk. 

 

“Damn, Betty,” he calls to her, “I was gonna tell you how much I missed your sister in my bed last night, but now that I have a better view of that ass of yours - you know there's always a place for you too.” He grins. “With Polly, without, whatever.”

 

Betty turns her head and gives him her darkest look. “You're disgusting,” she informs him. “Neither I nor my sister would ever be interested in doing anything resembling …  _ that …  _ with you, Reggie.”

 

Reggie’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Mini-Cooper. Even you have to lose that v-card sometime. And it's not like a loser like you has many prospects.”

 

She takes a deep breath, potential responses swirling in her head. She wants to tell him off, to yell at him and really express her rage, but Betty knows that an outburst would only fuel the fire that drives so much of the rumour mill about her  _ instability _ . So instead, Betty looks back at the sidewalk and picks up her pace, choosing to ignore him completely. He drives alongside her for another minute or so, then peels off with a squeal of tires and burnt rubber, leaving Betty in both the literal and metaphorical dust. 

 

She tries not to think about the interaction for the rest of her walk, which is actually fairly easy to do. Once she starts thinking about the kids in her half-day camp, Betty’s brain fills with all of the logistics for all of the crafts she has planned and an internal conflict about the order of the books she's picked for them to read, and by the time she reaches the library and gets herself set up in the event space, Reggie Mantle is less than a memory. 

  
  


Three and a half hours later, Betty’s hands are covered in paint and her heart is full of joy. She likes kids and has always loved the library, so when the opportunity had come up to volunteer as the one of the session coordinators for its day program for kids under eight, she’d jumped at it. It's been great for the kids and she can tell it’s been good for her, too; it's made Mondays and Wednesdays her favourite days of the week.

 

She rinses her hands off in the bathroom sink, then returns to the event room (realistically, it’s just the library’s board room, which is made rentable to the community for additional revenue) to clean up the paints and crayons. Betty puts them in her craft bucket, which is stored in a corner of the head librarian’s office, and then turns her attention to the numerous books that have been strewn around the room by eager children. She knows she should be instilling a little more obedience with the  _ clean up after yourselves  _ rule, but saying that always makes her feel too much like her mother and that’s not a headspace that Betty wants to be occupying when she’s doing something that she otherwise gets to treat as an escape.

 

She makes a stack, then lifts it into her arms and carries the books into the main part of the library. Out of the corner of Betty’s eye, she sees none other than Jughead Jones, actor and all-around good bus-neighbour, as he enters through the main doors. Most of the kids have left and many of them are likely too young to really know who he is anyway, and since it’s late on a Monday afternoon the library is otherwise fairly abandoned. Which was probably his objective, Betty realizes. Her eyes follow him for a few moments; she’s surprised to see him here, but he seems to be genuinely browsing and even though they’d had a nice conversation the day before she decides to respect his space and leave him be.

 

Besides, she has other things to attend to. She’s standing in the short shelves of the children’s section, trying to wedge  _ The Book With No Pictures  _ into a cube, when a little dark-haired girl from her camp runs up to her, yelling, “Betty! Betty!”

 

Betty smiles at her, an outgoing little four-year-old named Melanie. “Hey Mellie,” she says, squatting down to her height. “What’s going on? Did you forget something?”

 

Melanie nods deliberately. “Yeah, I forgot to say ‘bye-bye’!”

 

“Ohhh.” Betty puts on a serious face. “Then it’s a good thing you remembered and came back.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Do I get a hug too?”

 

Melanie nods and throws her arms around Betty’s neck, squeezing her as tight as she can. Betty returns the hug gently, smiling at Melanie’s mother over her shoulder, and then pulls back. “Bye-bye!” Melanie recites, letting go of Betty and promptly waving her hands.

 

Betty waves back and smiles at the girl’s retreating back for a few moments before she turns and finishes reshelving the rest of her stack of books. She tightens her ponytail and decides to cut through the adult fiction section on her way back to the librarian’s office. She turns at the end of the stack of F-authors and nearly jumps out of her skin when Jughead suddenly appears around the corner. 

 

“Oh my god!” she says, grabbing onto the metal shelf. He’s looking at her with amusement, and Betty is already embarrassed. “You scared me.”

 

Jughead reaches a hand up and scratches the back of his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought I heard your name and figured I’d come see if it was you. There can’t be that many Bettys around.”

 

Betty doesn’t quite know what to do with the information that out of all the people in the world,  _ she  _ is the first Betty that comes to Jughead Jones’s mind. She bites her lip and gives a half-curtsey, realizing partway through that this is just making her look even stupider. “It’s me,” she says, the tips of her ears beginning to heat up. “Didn’t peg you for a library guy.”

 

“Libraries are the heart of a community,” Jughead says almost immediately. It’s obvious by the strength in the tone of his voice that his words are more than just a populist slogan - he believes it. “I figured especially in a little place like this, what better place to get a feel for the town than to go to the library? Plus, I finally finished  _ Anna Karenina  _ and am in desperate need of something a little less Russian. So here I am. What about you? Do you work here? No class or anything?”

 

“It’s summer,” Betty informs him, smiling when his cheeks flush slightly. “And I’ve graduated high school, but I suppose it’s a compliment to be assumed to be younger than I am.” She chews the inside of her cheek awkwardly, then adds, “I volunteer here on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. I run a sort of half-day camp thing for kids under eight, which really is just them painting whatever they want onto cheap paper and then throwing books around.”

 

Jughead looks almost impressed, which Betty isn’t sure how to take. “That’s wonderful,” he says earnestly. “But too bad you don’t work at the library - I was gonna ask you for a recommendation.” He rests his arm on the bookshelf above his head, leaning in slightly toward Betty. It’s a power stance that she’s pretty familiar with - every jock at Riverdale High loomed over every cheerleader at their locker in a similar way - but somehow with Jughead, it seems less threatening and more charming.

 

“I could give you one,” she says in a slightly more breathless voice than she’d intended. “Here, I - wait.” Betty flits down the aisle into the C-authors and pulls out  _ In Cold Blood.  _ “To get you in the  _ Sweetwater  _ zone?”

 

Jughead looks at the cover of the book she hands him and chuckles. “Small-town murders, huh? Is that my vibe?”

 

Betty shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

 

He tilts his head at her with slightly widened eyes, like he can’t believe she said that to him, and then shakes it as he smiles. “Capote’s is a little lighter on the coming-of-age aspects and a little heavier on the rural-America commentary, if I remember, but yeah, good choice.”

 

“You’ve read it.” Betty reaches her hand out. “I’ll find you something else.”

 

Jughead holds the book closer to him. “No! It’s been years since I’ve read it, and fifteen-year-old me probably didn’t understand as much as he thought he did. It’ll be good to read it again with another six years under my belt.”

 

“Time can give you a totally different perspective,” Betty agrees, unable to escape the slight wistfulness in her tone. “Doesn’t even need to be that long sometimes.”

 

He nods slowly, his blue eyes suddenly meeting hers. “Agreed.” He swallows visibly and then opens and closes his mouth briefly. Betty frowns, watching his pause, and is about to tell him she’ll leave him alone now when he suddenly says, “Do you want to hang out sometime? I have weekends off, mostly, unless there’s a weather thing that changes the schedule. And a lot of evenings off too, unless it’s a night shoot.”

 

Betty’s initial reaction is shock. Why the hell would someone like Jughead Jones want to spend any more time than necessary with her? She’s a loser. Not even the kids at her high school wanted to do that. She wonders if this is her place to say, like she should be adding,  _ hey by the way I’m a social outcast, that probably changes things,  _ but just as she’s trying to figure out how to phrase that not-pathetically, she gets her sister’s voice in her head. Polly has always been a big champion of hers, infusing her with the virtues of her own self-worth even when Betty found it nearly impossible to do so, and she knows that her sister would be disappointed in her if she knew what she was contemplating.

 

So it’s in honour of Polly that instead, Betty blurts out, “Why?” 

 

Jughead smiles at her. “You seem cool, and I’m going to be here for seven months - I can’t only hang out with Archie and Veronica, I’ll drive myself to drink.”

 

Betty figures that if it was anybody else who was new in town - a regular Joe, not a famous Jones - that she would be saying yes without a second thought. It’s the polite thing to do, she thinks, but there’s also no reason that just because he happens to be famous, she can’t be herself toward him. And this is what she  _ does -  _ she helps. 

 

So she bites her lip, drops her eyes to his twitching adam’s apple, and nods.

  
  


\--

  
  


She doesn’t tell her parents. 

 

Betty doesn’t tell her parents everything at the best of times, though that’s been changing steadily since she’s been in various forms of therapy. Apparently honesty is generally helpful, as a rule. But something about telling Alice Cooper that she’s maybe befriending a famous Hollywood actor just seems out of place. 

 

Plus, it might not actually come to fruition anyway. Those kinds of good things rarely happen to her.

 

Instead, Betty curls up in her room with herbal tea and the Philip Seymour Hoffman movie  _ Capote.  _ She’s half-paying attention and half-scrolling on her phone, checking Instagram. Betty follows a few celebrity accounts and a few accounts belonging to people that she knows from school, but mostly her feed is comprised of National Geographic and its various social media incarnations. She rarely watches stories, either, but when she sees the little red circle appear around Jughead’s name at the top, she can’t stop herself.

 

And then she’s even more surprised, because it’s  _ her.  _ He’d snapped a selfie with her at the library, and apparently a few hours later he’s put it on his story with the caption  **_we gotta stop meeting like this @bettscooper._ ** Fairly immediately, she starts getting notifications of various comments on her last instagram, the photo of herself and Jughead on the bus that she’d taken. It had already been inundated with a lot of fan comments (plus the usual rude ones from Cheryl, Reggie, and Chuck) but now there are even more, and most of them aren’t that nice.

 

Jughead sends her a message via Instagram’s direct messaging a few minutes later. It’s fairly direct, asking simply for her phone number. Betty surprises herself at the speed with which she responds, giving it freely, and waits nervously to see if he’ll actually use it.

 

He does, two minutes later, sending a text that reads  **_I met somebody outside the set today named Cheryl something-or-other that said she knows you._ **

 

Fuck. Here it is.  _ Well,  _ she thinks,  _ it’s been a good run.  _ A few hours of thinking that maybe she has a new friend is longer than she typically gets, so it’s still a net gain in Betty’s books. Nothing good can come from Cheryl having brought her up; Cheryl is decidedly  _ not  _ her biggest fan. Still, Betty knows she should be neutral at minimum, so she texts back,  **_Blossom? Red hair? She and I graduated from the same high school, she’s a year ahead of me._ ** She doesn’t mention that Cheryl is a mean girl that would give Regina George a run for her money, or that she’s always been exceptionally cruel toward Betty and has personally been the trigger for at least three of her panic attacks. Everyone deserves a chance, she’s always thought, even Cheryl.

 

But then Jughead responds, and Betty can’t help but smile. 

 

**_She seemed like a bitch._ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am overwhelmed at the response this story has gotten already. 50+ unique comments on one chapter is definitely a record for me, wow. I appreciate it so much.
> 
> That said, hope you enjoyed this installment too, and if you'd be so inclined as to leave some feedback on this one here at AO3 I'd be soooo happy :)


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, totally overwhelmed with all the love! You guys are so amazing.

_ Put your hands on the wheel  
_ _ Let the golden age begin _

  * Beck



 

 

 

“Look down please, Mr. Jones.”

 

Jughead obeys, flicking his eyes to his nose and holding still as the makeup artist touches up the powder on his t-zone. He slides his gaze slightly to the side, catches a glimpse of the swift river flowing beside him, and thinks,  _ Betty was right.  _

 

It’s nearing the end of the first week of filming - and thus his first week in Riverdale - and today Jughead is shooting a scene near the river with Veronica and Archie, who has finally arrived in town. He’d told Betty where the filming location was, and she’d said that the particular trail that had been scouted for the shoot was  _ so, so beautiful, Jughead.  _ She’d been right; Jughead might be a city kid from the Valley, but he’s always loved nature, and the lush forested areas of the northeast are definitely a pleasant surprise.

 

“Alright, you’re set,” the makeup artist informs him, moving on to Archie beside him. Jughead thanks her and then turns to look fully at the river. It  _ is  _ beautiful, and it makes his fingers twitch with the urge to text Betty and let her know.

 

He’s been doing that a lot since he’d gotten her number a few days prior. He’d meant to ask her for it when he ran into her at the library, but in a weird, fairly uncharacteristic moment, he’d been too nervous. Jughead knows it doesn’t make logical sense; he’s a famous actor, and at worst she was likely to say yes just to be able to plaster his phone number online. But when he’d opened his mouth, all he’d been able to do was ask her dumbly if she wanted to ‘hang out sometime’. Even when she’d said yes, Jughead had still just bid her farewell and hadn’t realized until he’d gotten back to his apartment that the only way he had to contact her was via fucking Instagram.

 

He's a famous actor. He's not the type to wield it, but he knows he probably has most of the social power here. There's no reason  __ that Jughead Jones should be nervous to ask a girl for her phone number. Both of his recent ex-girlfriends have walked for Victoria's Secret. He has  _ options.  _

 

But Betty - there's something about her. She's a couple years younger than him, he's gathered, but her wide-eyed appeal isn't about innocence or naïveté. On the contrary; there are sad corners in her face, lurking somewhere behind the beautiful green that is otherwise distracting, and Jughead has a feeling that she's got more than enough life under her belt already. But that isn't what’s drawing him to her, either - it's her honesty and her good-heartedness. She's been so nice to him, and he knows that she would have treated him completely the same as she did if he was a homeless kid on the street or if he was the president. 

 

It's  _ that.  _ It's so rare, especially with the circles he runs in, and Jughead wants to be around someone for whom  _ that  _ seems to be such an integral part of their being. 

 

“You boys should wear makeup all the time,” Veronica declares as she walks up to himself and Archie. “You look a lot better.”

 

“You should try it sometime,” Jughead says automatically, then immediately darts his eyes to Veronica with mild remorse. Her jaw has dropped slightly, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that brings Jughead great relief.

 

“Aww Jug,” Veronica coos, reaching a hand up to pat him on the head. “I’m so glad you think my look is all-natural.”

 

Archie snorts, then dodges Veronica’s hand as she swats at him. “Sorry, sorry!” he apologizes, laughing. “So are you guys all unpacked? Because I was thinking tonight you could come over and help me unpack my apartment. I can pay in pizza and beer.”

 

“I know what your quote is, you can pay a lot more than that,” Veronica says absentmindedly, looking at her nails. “But yes, sure. Though order some salad, too. Not all of us can carry the pizza as well as you, and I have a swimming scene to shoot in two weeks.”

 

“Noted,” Archie says, nodding at her. He glances at Jughead. “Jug?”

 

Jughead chews on the inside of his cheek awkwardly and looks away, watching the director barking orders at one of his assistants. “Uhh, I would, but I’ve got plans,” he says evasively.

 

Veronica turns to him, one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised. “Plans?” she repeats. “To do  _ what?  _ Sit on your couch with your old beanie on and play video games?” She makes an exaggerated face of sudden understanding and snaps her fingers. “I got it. You just caught up on  _ Game of Thrones,  _ and now you’re feeling threatened by Jon Snow’s intense powers of brooding and you need to practice to keep your throne.”

 

“You’ve got me,” Jughead says sarcastically, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have plans, like I said. With someone.”

 

“Sabrina?” Archie guesses, shielding his face from the sun with one of his hands. The sun has moved distinctly to the west; this is perfect for the scene they’re about to shoot, but it also has the effect of glaring harshly into their eyes. “Is she coming to visit?”

 

“No, we’re long done. She’s actually dating Trula now. Yes, I understand, that’s hilarious,” Jughead adds, holding a hand up to stop Archie before he can even get a laugh out. “It’s someone else, a girl I met.”

 

“A girl you met where?” Veronica asks, puzzled. “You literally know us and the people working on the movie. Ooh, is it that one PA that’s been giving you googly-eyes since we started shooting? The redhead?”

 

“The what? Who?” Jughead shakes his head. “No. I met her on the bus on the way up and then ran into her again a few days ago at the library, and we’re hanging out tonight.”

 

“The girl from your instagram story?” Veronica asks, her voice tinged with both incredulity and interest. “Really? I thought she was just a fan that you met.”

 

Jughead hesitates. Was Betty a fan? She had already been following him on instagram, but - well, a lot of people follow him. He’s a public figure. That doesn’t really prove much. She’d said she knew who he was, and had complimented him on a few of his films, but he hadn’t really gotten the sense that she was a huge crazy fan or anything. Jughead’s met enough of that type to know that there’s no way Betty would be treating him as normally as she is if she were really one of those types of fans. “I think she likes some of my work,” he says democratically. “But mostly she’s just a cool girl. She’s nice, she knows a lot about film, and I dunno. We kind of hit it off.”

 

“That’s adorable,” Veronica declares. “Hollywood star Jughead Jones falls for local small town girl.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Jughead protests.  _ Not really, at least not right now.  _ Sure, he thinks Betty is awesome. And sure, he’s attracted to her - she’s gorgeous, in a much different way than most of the Hollywood-actress types that he usually meets. And - yeah, okay. Maybe he’s interested in her. But that’s not his primary objective here. He just wants to spend some time with her, and let the chips fall where they may. 

 

Archie snorts at that, too, then lightly punches Jughead in the shoulder and begins to lead the three of them toward their director, who is beckoning with his hand. “Yet,” he jokes, winking at Jughead.

 

He rolls his eyes - just because Archie can’t manage to meet a girl without dating her, doesn’t mean Jughead is incapable of it - but as he falls into step behind Archie, he can’t stop his brain from wondering if Betty has been thinking about him as much as he’s been thinking about her for the last few days.

  
  


\--

  
  


Of course, by the time Jughead is finished filming and is ready to hang out with Betty, it’s fucking raining. 

 

He peers outside through the window of his apartment (which like Archie's, is still largely unpacked). It’s not exactly pouring but the precipitation is steady. Jughead sends a quick text to Betty, letting her know that he still would like to hang out but that he understands if she'd like to postpone because of the weather. 

 

**_It's just rain,_ ** comes her reply. Jughead smiles. 

 

She shows up twenty minutes later, wearing a jacket, jeans, and a pair of white Keds that are somehow perfectly clean despite the fact that she obviously walked to his apartment building through puddles of rainwater. He waits for her in the lobby of his building and steps out when he sees her coming his way.

 

When it rains in LA, everything has a tendency to look grey - the vast sky and its mirror on the ocean, the streets, the buildings. Even the palm trees seem dark and colourless. In New York, the water collects in pools with the dirt and grime of the city. When it drains, the dirt streaks with it and spreads across the concrete. Unless there’s enough force to go with it, the dampness isn’t cleansing the way Jughead thinks it’s supposed to be, although the bright lights of the city do seem to be at a higher saturation point than they are when it’s dry. Even leaving aside the fact that her smile is too wide for New York and too genuine for LA, Betty and her bright blue umbrella would’ve stood out in either place.

 

But here, in small-town America, she seems to blend in. Riverdale is essentially an expanse of green space with some houses and buildings scattered throughout. The rain that falls feeds the trees and plants and grass, enriching the colour and making the world momentarily seem a little less heavy. Just like her.

 

Betty waves when she spots him and quickens her pace a little. Jughead smiles as she approaches, her now-familiar ponytail bobbing jauntily. He wonders what she looks like with her hair down.

 

“Hi!” she chirps, stopping once she reaches his side. “How are you? How was filming?”

 

Jughead reaches out and gives her a one-armed hug, which she returns after a brief moment of what seems like surprise. “It was fine,” he reports, shrugging. “Nothing too difficult today - walking and talking. I’ll be doing that for two weeks,” he adds with a hint of derision. “You were right, though. That area down by the river is beautiful.”

 

Betty nods fervently, her earnest smile widening. “It really is. It’s so nice having that right in town, basically.”

 

“For sure.” Jughead shoves his hands in the pockets of his fleece-lined coat, taking note of the cool temperature (the main downside of rain, in his opinion) and wondering if Betty, with her light jacket and likely winter-hardiness, is judging him for his California chill. “So, where to? You said you wanted to take me somewhere.”

 

“Yes,” Betty confirms, offering him her umbrella and bringing the hood of her jacket over her head. “Use this. I should’ve brought you an umbrella.” 

  
She’s apologetic, which Jughead thinks is totally unreasonable. He’s the one that saw the rain falling and went outside without coverage anyway. “No,” he protests, shaking his head. “I’m not taking your umbrella.”

 

Betty tilts her head a little and raises her eyebrow in what has to be the sweetest way anyone has ever tried to nonverbally challenge him. He manages to fight back a laugh, but he can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face. He hasn’t smiled this much in weeks, and it’s been five minutes. 

 

“We’ll share,” she eventually decides. Since he’s taller, she forces the umbrella into his hand, then she edges closer to him and they start to walk down the street in near-lockstep.

 

She leads him down the semi-busy street (by Riverdale standards) that his building is on. They turn to the right once they’ve reached the end of the block, and suddenly they’re in a park. Betty sticks to the paved pathways, but as they walk through the semi-forested areas, she points out alcoves of trees and bushes where apparently several families of rabbits have taken up residence. 

 

“We had a late winter last year,” Betty explains, “but they’d already turned white for the snow, and for almost a month you could see them hopping around as plain as day.”

 

Jughead smiles down at her. “That’s adorable.”

 

“It was, but it was also dangerous for them. They couldn’t blend in,” she continues in a sobering tone, “but then it snowed and things were back to normal.” She opens her mouth as if she were going to say more, but then bites her lip and ducks her head a little before nudging him over to the left.

 

They take a detour past the library, then continue along what Betty says is the long way to Pop’s. Jughead isn’t quite sure who Pop is or what type of establishment he runs, but he’s pretty sure that Betty isn’t twenty-one so it can’t be a bar. He imagines it’s a coffee shop, the hipster type that reminds him of what Starbucks probably was when it was just a stall across from the market in Seattle and not the global behemoth it is now. 

 

In the end, it’s neither a bar nor a cafe, although coffee is definitely served. Pop’s turns out to be a diner, a combination of the lowbrow kind that truckers might stop in on a late night trip and the upscale psuedo-1950s type loved exclusively by people who were never alive in that decade. There’s a pot of coffee behind the counter that smells a little burnt, and booths with slick red faux leather covering the cushions. 

 

He decides he likes it.

 

Jughead slides into a booth across from Betty. An older waitress promptly appears in front of their table and gives him a broad, friendly smile. “Welcome to Pop’s,” she says to him. For a second Jughead thinks she recognizes him, but then her gaze shifts to Betty and she exclaims, “Betty!” in an excited tone.

 

“Hi Marlene,” Betty greets, standing and giving her a brief hug before sitting back down. “So nice to see you again. This is my friend Jughead.”

 

Marlene smiles warmly at him again. “Any friend of Betty’s is a friend of mine,” she states matter-of-factly. “What flavour would you like?”

 

She asks the question so nonchalantly that Jughead is convinced he’s missed something in the conversation. “Sorry, flavour for what?”

 

“Milkshake, dear,” she says, as though any other answer would have been completely ridiculous. “Vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate?”

 

“Uhh…” Jughead looks at Betty with an exaggerated panicked face, feeling a small rush in his chest when she giggles at him. “Chocolate?”

 

“Good choice,” Marlene says approvingly. “Betty, your usual?”

 

“Yes please, Marlene. Thank you.” Betty smiles at the waitress. Once she walks away, she turns her gaze back to Jughead. “Sorry, I should have warned you. When I come in here it’s usually for a milkshake - they’re out of this world - and I think Marlene just projected. You don’t actually have to get a milkshake if you don’t want one, I can absolutely go up and tell her--”

 

“Betty,” Jughead interrupts, reaching across the table and placing his hand on top of hers. “I love milkshakes.” He smiles reassuringly at her and has to fight the sudden urge to stroke his thumb across the back of her hand. Just so he doesn’t do anything to weird her out, he pulls his hand back and shoves it underneath his thigh. 

 

Betty smiles with relief and then leans back in the booth. “So this is Pop Tate’s,” she explains, voice lilting slightly with the subject change. “Pop is a good man. If he’s around later I’ll introduce you. He won’t get all up in your business, so if you ever need an escape … though the diner is pretty popular in town.”

 

Marlene reappears just as Jughead is nodding his understanding, and places two milkshakes on the table. Jughead doesn’t miss the wink she gives Betty, whose cheeks flush a light pink as she becomes suddenly very interested in the cherry sitting atop the whipped cream. 

 

Jughead takes a sip of his and has to close his eyes at the flavour. It’s incredible. He is definitely coming back here again. He gives a heavy exhale, then opens his eyes and sees Betty looking at him curiously. “It tastes good,” he confirms, then he too leans back against the cushions. “So Betty … at the risk of this sounding like a job interview, tell me about yourself.”

 

Betty gives him a small smile, then looks at her milkshake again and begins to speak. “Uhh … okay. Well you know I just graduated. I was looking at going to Columbia next year, but I decided I needed, um - a break, I guess,” she says, stumbling a little over her words. “My parents own the local paper, the  _ Riverdale Register,  _ and I’m going to work for them and try to do some volunteer work. The library like you saw, but also a few other places.”

 

Her eyes are still trained on her milkshake, but the redness in her cheeks has crept down to her neck and Jughead is hit with the overwhelming sense that ‘I decided a needed a break’ is not exactly the whole story. He doesn’t push her on it, understanding better than anyone that some things need to be off limits, and instead he asks her about the kids she teaches at the library.

 

That subject gets her eyes to lift to his and her face to light up. She begins to speak about the different ages and the groups within her class, and the next thing he knows Jughead is giving her tips on what kind of things seven-year-old boys might be into so that she can better capture the imagination of a couple of boys in her group that had seemed a little distracted the previous Wednesday. Not that trucks and dinosaurs are really for  _ all  _ boys - they certainly weren’t for him, who at seven years old was much more preoccupied with wondering if his pregnant mother got enough rest while his alcoholic father was out at all hours - but still, Jughead figures that they might appeal to a broad enough demographic that it’d be worth a shot.

 

“I’ll give that a try,” Betty promises, smiling at him and sipping her milkshake. “So you’re … twenty-one, right?”

 

“Right in one.”

 

His eyes are drawn to Betty’s mouth as she bites the corner of her lip thoughtfully and then releases it. The lips start moving again, and it’s all he can do to drag his eyes up to hers. “What do you like about acting?”

 

Jughead is a little caught off guard by that question and sits in silence for a moment. He wonders how honest she wants him to be. He considers giving her the the press-friendly ‘I’m an artist’ answer, but she’s peering at him with a mix of curiosity and concern in her big green eyes and he can’t help but tell her the truth. “Honestly? The money, I guess. And not in an I-want-to-be-a-millionaire way,” he adds hurriedly, noting the confusion in her face. “But I only got into acting because my family needed the money. I was ‘discovered’, I guess people say, by a talent scout in an In-N-Out in the Valley. I grew up in North Hollywood, which is not a great area, and my family had always had problems paying the bills. They were going to pay me some ridiculous amount of money to be the model in a few photos for a clothing campaign, and it just kind of escalated from there.”

 

He expects Betty to look sympathetic - anyone who’s bothered to hear the full story usually does - but instead she looks pensively at him, purses her lips slightly, and asks, “Are you happy doing it?”

 

He stares at her. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.”

 

“Sorry,” Betty apologizes, glancing down at her hands. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just - that seems like a lot of pressure to put on a kid.”

 

Jughead opens his mouth to dismiss her concern, to tell her  _ ‘it’s fine’,  _ he survived, and that things were what they were, but she catches his eye accidentally and there that fucking look is again. And instead, he replies, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

“You should be what you want to be,” Betty tells him softly. He gets the sense that she’s said this before. “Not what other people want you to be.”

 

He’s quiet for a long moment. “That’s good advice, Cooper,” he finally says, offering her a smile. “Be right back, I just have to go to the bathroom.” He winks at her as he gets up, noting with pride the way that her cheeks blush again, and then walks past the counter to the washrooms in the small hallway.

 

Jughead uses the facilities, then washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s wearing his beanie, because he spends a lot of time pretending to be other people and when it comes to his regular life, he likes to be as much of himself as possible. It’s an old, raggedy hat, but it’s been his since before all of the fame and celebrity hit, and he hadn’t thought twice about wearing it. But it doesn’t look great, he notes, and takes it off for a second. He wonders if Betty would think he looks better without it. 

 

Then he hears her voice in his head, saying  _ “you should be what you want to be”,  _ and puts the hat back on.

 

He exits the bathroom and turns to walk back to his and Betty’s booth, only to stop when he sees her standing by the door with his jacket carefully folded over his arm. Her face is still red, but not in the cute way it had been after he’d winked at her. It’s more blotchy now, her eyes puffy and unclear, like she’d shed a few tears. Jughead opens his mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but the sound of giggles interrupts his train of thought and he turns to see what’s going on.

 

There’s a group of girls sitting in a booth near the back that Jughead knows definitely hadn’t been there five minutes ago. He actually recognizes one of them as the redheaded mean girl he’d met near the set a few days earlier and recalls Betty saying that they’d gone to school together. They seem to be looking at Betty, who is steadfast in her obvious effort to ignore them.

 

They stop giggling immediately when they spot him. The redhead’s hand flies to her hair and fixes the way it lays over her shoulder. Jughead is already over this.

 

Ignoring them, he walks over to Betty and touches her elbow. “You okay?” he murmurs.

 

She doesn’t make eye contact, but she does hand him his jacket. “Can we go?” she asks quietly.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he says automatically, sliding his arms into his jacket. He’s not sure what’s going on, but he has lived in LA his whole life and he’s been around enough bitchy actresses to know that whatever it is, it can’t be good. And judging by Betty’s teary eyes, it can’t be good for  _ her,  _ which pisses Jughead off.

 

So on their way out, he puts his arm around Betty’s shoulders and squeezes gently. He takes the umbrella from her hand and opens it once they’re through the door, keeping her tucked into his side as they walk purposefully past the window where the redhead  and her giggling friends are sitting. 

 

They walk in aimless silence for a few minutes, then Betty says, “So that was Cheryl.”

 

“The bitch?” Jughead confirms.

 

Betty gives him a disapproving look. “She’s had it pretty hard,” she says somewhat evasively. “It’s not totally her fault, that she is the way she is. But yeah, she’s the one you met outside the set.”

 

“Betty, you have to be the most diplomatic person I’ve ever met,” Jughead says, shaking his head. “What happened back there?”

 

She looks down and shrugs. “Nothing that needs to be talked about. They weren’t very nice to me in high school, I suppose I can say. But we’re all graduated now and it doesn’t matter anymore. Cheryl will be going back to her college in the fall and until then I’m just gonna kill her with kindness.”

 

Jughead lets out a sigh and stops walking, unable to fully process the weight of Betty’s words. Cheryl was and is a bully, is what Betty is essentially saying. Whatever her and her friends had done and said, it had obviously been bad enough that it had made Betty cry. Yet here she is, refusing to say a bad word about her. Jughead can’t decide if he wants to kiss her and let her goodness consume him or just shake some sense into her. 

 

“Bett--”

 

_ “Oh my god, Jughead Jones!”  _

 

Jughead stops talking mid-word and gives Betty an apologetic smile. “One sec,” he mouths, then plasters a smile on his face and turns to look at the teenaged girl that has run up to him with her phone in hand. “You caught me,” he says good-naturedly.

 

“You are my favourite actor, oh my god, oh my god,” the girl chants. “Do you think I could get a picture?”

 

“Sure,” Jughead says automatically, moving toward her so that the girl can grab a selfie.

 

“Do you want me to take it?” Betty suddenly offers, stepping forward. “Get a better frame?”

 

The girl looks at her for a minute and then gasps again. “Oh my god,  _ you’re Betty.”  _

 

Jughead fights back a smile at the alarmed look on Betty’s face. “I am,” she says slowly. “How did you--”

 

“From instagram, duh,” the girl says. “Can you please be in it too? Oh my god!”

 

Betty tries to politely decline, but the girl is insistent, and the next thing Jughead knows he’s pulling Betty toward him and holding her tightly so that the three of them can fit into the frame. The girl thanks them profusely and then runs off, fingers already flying rapidly across her phone screen. Jughead laughs once the girl is out of earshot and presses his nose against her hair briefly before realizing how tight his grip still is on her. He releases her and grins.

 

“You’re famous now too,” he informs her, earning himself a mildly annoyed look from Betty, complete with raised eyebrow.

 

“Don’t be silly,” she dismisses, picking up the discarded umbrella. “Let’s get you home before more of that happens.”

  
  


They’re back at his apartment building in an annoyingly short amount of time. Jughead offers to walk her all the way home, noting that it’s dark now and - well, it just seems like the chivalrous thing to do - but Betty just shakes her head as he’d known she would and tells him that she’ll be fine.

 

“Do you want to come up?” he offers, and quickly follows up with, “You could meet Archie and Veronica. They were really curious when I told them we were hanging out; I know they’d like to meet you.”

 

Betty looks interested for a moment, then shakes her head slowly. “I don’t want to intrude.”

 

“I’m not dating her, by the way,” Jughead blurts out. “Veronica. I know there are rumours. They’re 100 per cent false. Just friends.”

 

She quirks her head to the side slightly and a smile tugs at her lips. “I don’t really follow celebrity gossip. It’s not my business anyway.”

 

As if he needed another reason to like her, Jughead thinks. Aloud he says, “All the same. I don’t want you to think that I’m not - I dunno. Never mind. I’m rambling.”

 

“Your rambling is cute,” Betty tells him, the flush in her cheeks obvious even in the dim street lighting. “But maybe another time. I should get home. I had fun - we should do it again.”

 

“Definitely.” Jughead opens his arms and gives her a questioning look, then feels an internal wave of relief when she lowers her umbrella, steps forward and gives him a hug. “I’ll text you,” he promises.

 

Betty nods her understanding and then lifts the umbrella again. With a small wave, she turns and walks down the street. He watches her until she turns behind another building two blocks away, and only then does he go inside.

  
  



	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My big news is that I managed to make a hyperlink work (small victories), so if you aren't familiar with the insta edits that this is based on: [part 1](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/162889459500/bughead-au-actorjughead-pt-1-part-13-of-an-au), [part 2](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/163633917650/bughead-au-unpopular-film-nerdbetty-pt-2-part), [part 3](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/163672225260/bughead-au-insta-edit-w-actorjughead) \- Of course, pre-warning that if you haven't seen these yet, part 3 does spoil the ending :)

_“You travel here and you travel there, trying to get out from under the cloud, and nothing works, and then one day you realize you’ve been carrying the weather around with you.”_

  * Chris Cleave, Little Bee



 

Cold water always helps Betty breathe more easily.

 

It’s counterintuitive, really. When she has a bad cold, it’s a hot bath that usually makes her feel better. Her nose clears, her chest feels lighter, and her head gets temporary relief from the throbbing congestion. The hot water is almost medicinal, relieving her physical ailments with what sometimes seems like the same level of efficacy as DayQuil.

 

But _cold_ water - that’s different. What hot water does for her body, cold water somehow does for her mind. It numbs her skin and dulls her senses so that there’s more room for her thoughts, more space for them to organize and sort themselves into something usable. And the best place for cold water around Riverdale, aside from an awkwardly cold bathtub, is the river.

 

There’s a half-tributary near a large bend toward the north end of town where the river had started to branch out thousands of years ago and then stopped abruptly. What was left behind is a small alcove of rock and cold water surrounded by trees; it’s a popular swimming area for kids in the summertime, but right now it’s seven-thirty at night and any kids have long since gone home. Now it’s just her, the water, and her brain, which is steadily turning off for some much-needed decompression.

 

Betty swims casual laps from one rocky beach to the other, choosing backstroke so that she doesn’t have to worry about breathing at a specific time. It’s been a long couple of weeks - she’d gone to New York, faced her anxieties around getting a new therapist, made a new friend, and ran three fairly successful afternoon craft sessions for kids at the library. All in all, it’s gone pretty well, but it’s still a lot for her to process, especially the new friend part.

 

She likes Jughead. A lot. And there’s nothing in particular wrong with _him_ as a person. But he _is_ famous, and by now there have been a couple of photos circulated online of her with Jughead around Riverdale. His fangirls have come out in droves, inundating her social media accounts with tons of comments and inane questions - some less polite than others. The rude ones have unfortunately seemed to bolster her real-life bullies, who have become much more verbally aggressive with her both online and in person.

 

She’s had a Skype session with her therapist already and told her all about Jughead, mostly because Betty is trying to get better at identifying her own triggers and she has a feeling that the negative comments are going to eat at her. She’s fought a long, hard battle with her diagnosis over the last year, and the last thing she wants is to take any steps backward.  Especially since everything else seems to be going so well - her parents are being supportive - and genuinely so, which is the real surprise out of everything that’s gone on. They’ve endorsed her taking a gap year provided that she is able to use it to properly stabilize her mental health in order to ensure success in her eventual post-secondary education.

 

That also surprised Betty. For years, her choice of college was an incredibly popular dinnertime subject of conversation, and Betty would’ve never thought that there would be anything that would change Alice Cooper’s vision of her daughter’s future.

 

Truth be told, Betty feels like a failure too. She was supposed to go to university right away so that she could get a great job right away and start on her own life right away. That’s what proper, determined girls with good work ethics _do._ But when she goes, she’s supposed to actually succeed too, and Betty knows that that wouldn’t happen with the unstable way her mind and heart still feel.

 

She quits swimming and starts floating on her back. She stares up at the dusky sky, watching the oranges blend into reds and purples. She tries to focus on her breathing - three counts in, three counts out, then repeat - but she still can’t manage to get past the stage of awareness into a more deep zone of meditation. It’s not supposed to work for everyone, but for those that can force their minds there, her therapist says that this mild kind of sensory deprivation can be helpful. Unfortunately, the little hamsters in Betty’s head are still turning their wheels, and she’s about to give up when a wolf whistle breaks what’s left of her concentration.

 

Betty lifts her head and splashes abruptly until she can right herself and begin treading water. That takes a second, but once the water clears from her eyes, she can see Reggie and Chuck standing on the large rock that she’d left her bag near. Reggie is holding the shorts and t-shirt she’d worn over her bathing suit for the walk here, while Chuck stands closer to the edge and leers at her.

 

“Hey mini-Cooper.” Reggie calls. “What a surprise to find you here.”

 

Betty swallows the fear that rises in her throat. Chuck and Reggie are assholes, but they’d never actually hurt her - at least she doesn’t think so. “What do you want?” she asks bluntly.

 

“Heard you were running around with Jughead Jones,” Chuck says, crossing his arms. “Is that how it goes, Betty? You think you’re so much better than us that you have to start fucking an actor?” He tilts his head. “You are, aren’t you? You’re fucking him. Your parents went to all that trouble to keep you from being like your whore of a sister, and Hollywood takes one look at that sweet ass and you’re all in.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Betty says, her hands curling into fists underwater. “Jughead and I are just friends. Now give me my clothes back please.”

 

“Uh huh.” Chuck jerks his head toward Betty. “Then give us a little show, huh?”

 

Betty sputters. “What?!”

 

“A show,” Chuck repeats, clapping his hands with each word to underscore them. “Reg’ll give you your clothes back if you give us a little peek at what’s underneath that bathing suit.”

 

Betty sinks even lower into the water and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s wearing quite a conservative one-piece, so there’s not much to see, but Chuck has an angry, vengeful look in his eye and she’s never felt less comfortable than she does right now.

 

“You’re pigs,” she spits.

 

“Your loss, mini-Cooper,” Reggie says, shoving her clothes in his backpack. “Have fun walking home. Hopefully the cobwebs between your legs don’t get in the way.”

 

Chuck makes a crude gesture at her instead of uttering any final words, then he and Reggie disappear into the trees. Betty stays treading water for a moment, both confused and terrified. She’s not quite sure how Reggie’s insinuation fits with Chuck’s - she can’t be a slut _and_ a prude - but she has an idea that the real point of their threats were just to scare her. And _that_ worked.

 

Mercifully, they didn’t take her purse, meaning that her cell phone and wallet are still safe. Betty crawls out of the water, clutching her hands into fists tightly. Warmth creeps back into her extremities slowly, her skin tingling in the familiar way it always does when she’s been in the water a little too long. Betty sits on the rock and digs her nails deeper, exhaling with immense relief when a trickle of blood escapes from the side of her fist. This is one of her worst coping mechanisms; she hasn’t done it this seriously in almost two months, but right now the alternative is having a panic attack and Betty is determined to stop that before it happens. She takes choppy breaths in and out for ten more minutes, then manages to rinse her hands off. She takes a moment to stare at the reopened bloody scars on her palms.

 

_Whatever it takes._

 

Betty finds her purse and digs through the bag for her phone. When she locates it she calls her sister with shaking, wet fingers, and asks Polly to come bring her a spare change of clothes. She promises to explain everything later, and it’s only once she hangs up that she drops her head to her knees and starts to cry.

 

..

 

Betty lifts her cheek from its resting place on one of her embroidered pink-and-white pillows and shoves her fist into the side of it to make it fluffier. She lowers her head again and looks back at her laptop screen, hoping to get lost in _Casablanca._ It’s been approximately three hours since Polly came and picked her up, looking frantic and concerned. She’d made her promise not to tell their parents anything - Betty loves her mother and appreciates the way that she has handled her mental health issues over the last year, but she knows what she needs right now and a lecture from Alice Cooper on swimming unattended in the river is not that - and then had confessed to Polly everything that had happened. Polly had offered to go kick Reggie in the balls, but Betty had declined, figuring that knowing how much he and Chuck had affected her would only serve to embolden them.

 

She’d put antiseptic on her palms, eaten half of a late dinner and then, citing a headache, had gone upstairs to curl into her bed. And here she is still, covered in layers of blankets and cushioned by many throw pillows, watching old movies on her computer to make herself happy. She’s made it through _Breakfast At Tiffany’s_ and is onto the 1942 romantic drama, which is one of her go-tos when she’s having a bad day. The style is so old and removed from current filmmaking that Betty is very aware that it’s a _movie_ through every frame, and sometimes that’s good for her emotional sensitivity. Besides,  she’s seen it probably a hundred times, if not more, and the predictability of each scene is oddly comforting.

 

The familiarity is particularly helpful right now because Betty is also only half-paying attention. The rest of her attention is on her phone as she fields texts from Jughead, who’s bored on a night shoot. He’s giving her a long, drawn out detailing of what he’s eaten so far from craft services, and honestly Betty isn’t quite sure why he isn’t four hundred pounds. She tells him as much, to which he replies, **_I knew you were checking out my hot bod, Betts._ **

 

Betty bites her lip and stares at her laptop for a minute. Rick is busy schmoozing in his _Cafe Americain,_ having just hidden Ugarte’s letters of transit in the piano. She takes a moment to feel sad that things don’t end too well for Ugarte, then turns back to her phone and types a response to Jughead. **_You Hollywood types are so self centered ;)_ ** _,_ she says.

 

 **_Your rejection stings,_ ** he texts back almost immediately. **_I’m eating another doughnut._ **

 

She asks him if it’s jelly-filled, to which he responds with a flurry of rants about how disgusting jelly-filled doughnuts are and how they’re an abomination within the sugary-breakfast industry. Betty’s not certain why he has so many strong opinions about them, but she’s always kind of liked jelly-filled doughnuts, so she launches a defense of equal proportions.

 

She hasn’t told him what happened, because she sort of likes that he’s removed from the embarrassment of her day-to-day life, and also because there’s not much he can do about it. His texts are cheering her up whether he knows it or not; that’s really all she could ask for.

 

 **_They’re finished blocking. Gotta go._ ** Betty reads his message, sighs, and then sets her phone down, vaguely sad that he’s going to be busy for a while now. She flops down onto her back and continues to watch the movie.

 

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. It opens a second afterward and Polly pops her head in. “Can I come in?” she asks.

 

“Of course, Pol,” Betty says graciously. She immediately sits up, pauses _Casablanca,_ and moves the laptop over so there’s room for her sister on the bed. “What’s up?”

 

Polly sits on the edge and looks at Betty with concern in her eyes. She already knows what this is about. “I wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re okay.”

 

Betty chews her bottom lip. “I’m starting to cheer up. There’s nothing Humphrey Bogart can’t fix,” she jokes, shrugging her shoulders. “But really, Pol. I’m okay. They’ll all be gone soon, and things will be better.”

 

“It shouldn’t have to be that way,” Polly says in an annoyed tone. “I can’t believe those assholes. You’ve never done anything to them to justify this. This is as malicious as it comes! You should at least tell Kevin, so he can tell his dad.”

 

“No!” Betty says, shaking her head fervently. “What is Sheriff Keller gonna do? Go give them a talking to? That’ll just make them worse.” She folds her arms. “No. I’m just gonna wait them out.”

 

Her cell phone buzzes beside her. Betty grabs it, curious as to who it could be, but it’s another message from Jughead. **_In case you’ve passed out by the time I’m done, I hope you have a good sleep!_ ** _,_ he’s said, followed by several emojis including the moon, an insect, and a bed. She smiles despite her mood and quickly replies, **_I’ll wait up :)_ ** before setting her phone down and turning back to Polly.

 

Her sister is looking at her with a knowing glint in her eye. “Who’s _that?”_

 

Betty hesitates for a moment. She hasn’t told anyone that she’s been hanging out with Jughead - only Kevin, pretty much - although it appears to have gotten around anyway. Polly doesn’t pay much attention to the town gossip, not since she herself was a target of it a couple of years prior, so it’s unlikely that her sister has heard about her new friend. “Um. Jughead Jones.”

 

Polly raises both eyebrows. “Like, the actor Jughead Jones?”

 

“Yeah.” Betty shifts uncomfortably. “I told you I met him on the bus. I ran into him again the library, and … I dunno. We’ve been hanging out.”

 

“You’ve been _hanging out_ with Jughead Jones?!” Polly’s jaw drops. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

 

“I didn’t tell anyone! But Cheryl saw me with him at Pop’s, and I guess she told Reggie and Chuck and - well, that’s partly why they did what they did at the river today. They were … I dunno. Calling me names about it.” Betty looks down. “But we’re just friends, Pol. Seriously.”

 

Polly is shaking her head, still in disbelief. “I am in shock,” she declares. “Betty! How many times have you hung out with him?”

 

Betty shrugs. “A couple times. We text a lot, though. He’s on a night shoot right now and he said he was bored, so I was trying to entertain him.” She glances up at her sister, whose lips are spreading slowly in a sly smile, and she quickly holds a hand up. “Quit it, Polly. Before you say anything - no. He’s just bored in a small town after being used to living in a city and he wanted to make a friend. I’m just being nice. I’m sure once they’re done filming he’ll forget I existed.”

 

“Hey. Don’t put yourself down like that.” Polly nudges her shoulder. “I don’t care if he’s Brad Pitt. You’re fucking _memorable,_ Betty.”

 

“Language,” Betty chastises, clucking her tongue in a near-perfect imitation of their mother, at which Polly pretends to shudder.

 

Polly straightens her shoulders and pushes her chest out exaggeratedly. “Elizabeth,” she mimics, “have you saved the world yet today?”

 

Betty giggles and rests her head on Polly’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you when you go back to school, Pol.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Polly wraps her arms around Betty and hugs her. “We still have a month together. But after I’m gone, you have to promise me you’re not gonna let this shit get to you, okay? Those assholes are just stuck in tenth grade with this bullying. You’ve always been above them, and you’ll always be above them.” She smooths Betty’s hair down and sweeps it over her shoulder, then Betty feels her sister’s chin rest on top of her head. “And let me know if I have to come kick some Hollywood ass if this actor guy tries to get fresh with you.”

 

Betty turns bright red and pulls away from Polly. “Pol, for the last time. He’s definitely not interested in me like that. Besides, even if he was, as soon as he finds out about my - quote, ‘emotional instability’ - then I’m sure he’d be running for the hills.”

 

Her sister makes a dismissive noise with her tongue. Polly is also on a low-dose, and Betty knows that she doesn’t like when she makes those kinds of comments. “I maintain it’s everyone around us that’s unstable,” she says, jutting her chin out. “And we’re the normal ones.”

 

Betty laughs, then moves her laptop so that Polly can also see the screen. She unpauses it, lays back against her sister, and wishes more than anything that Polly’s words were the truth.

 

When Jughead texts again, it’s just shy of two in the morning. Polly has long since gone back to her own bedroom, and despite her tiredness Betty hasn’t been able to fall asleep. Veronica, Jughead’s costar in _Sweetwater,_ had posted a picture on her Instagram story of Jughead with a takeout bag from Pop’s and the caption **he got addicted the first time**. Somehow, people have connected Betty to this, and her mostly recently posted instagram photo, which is still the one of her and Jughead on the bus, has become a renewed hotbed of rude comments.

 

Betty has been trying to block people, but it’s been increasingly difficult to keep up. The final straw is a comment that reads, **of course @jughead would be introduced to greasy diner food by a fat girl like you, if his perfect body gets ruined I’m coming for you @bettscooper.**  Betty has to set her phone down after that, unable to process what is wrong with some people. She tries and fails to focus on _Citizen Kane,_ then opens Instagram again with an express purpose in mind. She’s been trying to avoid having to do this, because it sort of feels a little bit like some kind of failure, but it’s too much for her to deal with after all that’s already gone on today. So before she can second-guess herself, Betty goes to her settings and makes her page private.

 

_(Be your own number one.)_

 

A brief but intense wave of relief hits Betty the second that she changes the setting. It’s done, she thinks. _Finally._

 

Her phone buzzes again. Jughead has abandoned doughnuts and Pop’s and has apparently moved onto gummy candies to keep him going throughout the shoot. His current problem, apparently, is that now they’re all stuck in his teeth. Betty bites back a laugh and asks him, **_Can your production not afford toothpicks?_ **

 

 **_We’re on a tight budget, babe,_ ** he responds, **_the industry just ain’t what it used to be._ **

 

Betty stares at his message for a minute, her eyes glued to the word _babe._ She’s really trying not to read into it - he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would just say that to anyone, but then again, maybe he is. She doesn’t actually know him.

 

 **_Can you borrow one of Veronica’s long fingernails to pick at your teeth?_ ** Betty suggests, not wanting to weird him out with a prolonged silence, even though inside she’s still reeling.

 

His response is swift and laden with several crying-so-hard-it’s-laughing emojis. **_She’s offended you would suggest that. But apparently I’m pathejkf saz$=_ **

 

Betty watches the screen, confused. There three dots in the corner indicating that he’s typing. She expects that the forthcoming message will correct whatever the hell the last half of his previous one was supposed to say before something clearly went wrong, but when it appears, it reads **_Jughead + Betty =_ ** _,_ followed by the heart and baby emojis.

 

 **_I don’t understand,_ ** she texts. Her message is barely sent before her phone starts to buzz repeatedly and Jughead’s phone number flashes on the screen. Betty’s eyes widen and in a moment of panic she swipes her thumb on the screen to accept the call instead of reject it like she probably should have.

 

“Hello?” she says, keeping her voice soft and low so that she doesn’t disturb anybody who’s sleeping in her house. “Juggie?”

 

“Betty!” He sounds sort of out of breath but he’s also laughing, so Betty can’t pinpoint exactly what’s going on. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was Veronica, she’s being an asshole. You _are,”_ he says to somebody that’s clearly not Betty. “She stole my phone and she’s trying to embarrass me.”

 

Her heart is racing. The implication of his text - or Veronica’s, she supposes - is heavy in her stomach. It’s kicking around and sending butterflies throughout her body, and Betty can’t fight the smile that spreads across her face.

 

“That’s okay,” she says softly. “I figured something happened.”

 

“Yeah.” Jughead sighs into the phone. “Hey, it’s late. What are you doing up?”

 

Betty lays back against her pillows and smiles at the ceiling. “Texting you.”

 

“Aww. I feel so honoured. And you seemed like a ten-pm bedtime kind of girl.”

 

“I usually am.” She reaches over and closes her laptop. She won’t need that distraction to sleep anymore. Real life has given her plenty. “I guess you’re worth it.”

 

Jughead laughs into the receiver. “So, we don’t shoot tomorrow night. Can I see you?”

 

The butterflies are nearly overwhelming now. _Shit._ “Yeah, okay,” Betty answers, glad nobody can see her given the ridiculous look she’s sure is plastered on her face. “What do you want to do?”

 

“I don’t care.” He huffs a little. “Come over to my apartment. I can make you macaroni and cheese.”

 

“Because you like macaroni and cheese or because it’s the only thing you can cook?”

 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B. Hang on a sec.” There’s mumbling on the other end, then Jughead’s voice returns clearly. “I gotta go again. I’ll text you when I wake up tomorrow and we can pick a time. Get some sleep, Betty.”

 

As if on cue, Betty lets out a loud yawn. “‘Kay. Goodnight, Juggie.”

 

“‘Night, babe,” he says, then hangs up.

 

She holds the phone for another moment and closes her eyes to let that soak in. If she’d been taken aback via text, well - it was definitely a whole other thing to hear that word out loud in his actual voice, and directed at _her_ nonetheless. Betty is about sixty percent sure that she’s fallen asleep and is already dreaming, but the dull ache in her palms is still there to remind her of reality. She shakes her head to loosen her thoughts and then gets up, putting her laptop away on her desk. She crawls back into her bed after, tugging the covers over her shoulders. As Betty reaches up to turn her light off, she thinks that even it _is_ a dream, at least it’s a sweet one.

 

..

 

The next day, Betty goes for a long run by the river and then spends the afternoon at the _Register_ offices, reviewing all the ordering and fixing the layouts of the back pages for the next day’s issue. When she’d woken up around eight-thirty, there was a text from him on her phone from five in the morning, telling her to come over at six PM for dinner. She texts him at 5:45 that she’s on her way, and stops to grab coffees just in case he’s a little tired (she definitely is; by the time she’d fallen asleep, it was after three, but she has no regrets).

 

What Betty doesn’t expect is to actually wake him up when she buzzes his apartment number. “It’s Betty!” she chirps into the mic.

 

“Betty?” Jughead’s voice says, a bit tinny through the speaker. “What time is it? Oh _shit!_ Sorry sorry, come up!”

 

There’s a long tone, and Betty opens the building door. She takes what is definitely the most luxurious elevator she’s ever been in up to his floor, then knocks on the door of what he’d texted was his unit number. The door flies open immediately; Jughead is standing there in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. His hair is wild and unkempt, the grey beanie nowhere to be seen, and he looks kind of frantic.

 

“I overslept,” he says apologetically. “I’m so sorry. Come in. It’s sort of a mess.”

 

Betty steps in and smiles at him, then hands him his coffee. “Don’t worry, we’re not in any rush, it’s only - wow.” She stares at the boxes piled in the living room. “You really haven’t moved in yet, have you?”

 

Jughead looks sheepishly at the boxes. “I’ve been meaning to get around to it. I unpacked like, a pot and a plate.”

 

She gives him a look of exaggerated concern and then pats his shoulder. “Why don’t you go get dressed and I’ll start opening boxes.”

 

Betty takes a few steps toward the pile but is stopped when his arm catches her around the waist. “Hey, hey, no,” he says, tugging her toward him and away from the boxes. “I asked you over to hang out, not to put you to work.”

 

“We _will_ be hanging out,” Betty says with a shrug. “We’ll just also get something done while we’re doing that. I assume you don’t have any food in the house?”

 

“Uhh.” Jughead scratches his neck. “I have bread and peanut butter. I was going to go out before you got here and get some stuff to make you dinner. But my alarm fucked up.” His ears are turning red, a sign of embarrassment that Betty is quite familiar with. “I’m really sorry, Betty. I really did have like, plans--”

 

Betty waves his apology away. A part of her is actually really excited about the idea of unpacking his boxes. One, it’ll help her to get to know him better. These are all the things he thought were important enough to bring to Riverdale for seven months, after all. And two, as embarrassing and nerdy as it is, she gets a weird, soothing feeling from effective organization. The concept of a properly unpacked apartment makes her spine tingle a little.

 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she says, conscious of his arm still around her waist. “You’re going to go get dressed. I’m going to order a pizza. And then we’re going to unpack your boxes.”

 

Jughead tilts his head at her. “You’re serious.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He sighs. “Okay. I guess I have to do it sometime.” He lets go of her and makes a move toward the bedroom, then stops in his tracks and turns around. “Your hair’s down.”

 

Betty reaches a hand up and touches her head. “Yeah, it is,” she realizes.

 

Jughead smiles. “It’s longer than I thought it’d be. I like it.”

 

“Thanks.” Betty blushes and pulls her phone out of her pocket so that she can call for a pizza. She orders a large deluxe with no mushrooms and then sets to work opening one of the boxes. She quickly discovers that all five boxes in one of the piles are full of books, and good ones at that. Betty presses her lips together and looks to the doorway of his bedroom as he walks through, dressed now in a pair of worn-looking jeans and a simple t-shirt with the letter S on the front. His hair is still messy although slightly less so, like he half-assed combing it, but he’s not wearing the beanie and Betty counts that as a win.

 

“Kind of a bookworm, huh?” she says, gesturing to the open boxes she’s dragged over to his bookshelf.

 

“Just the ones I thought I might want to re-read while I’m here.” Jughead takes a sip of his coffee. “Though it’s not all of them. Hence the library thing.”

 

“Right.” Betty bites her lip. “Well, pizza is ordered, I’m going to start with the books, if you want to do one of the other boxes.”

 

“Yes ma’am.” Jughead walks to the tallest pile and lifts the top box down. The side of it says **KITCHEN** in big block letters, and judging by the noise it makes when he sets it down on the counter, it’s plates. Her suspicions are confirmed a minute later when Jughead starts to unpack it, placing them one by one on one of the lower shelves. “Betty, can I ask you a question?”

 

Betty places another ‘A’ author on the top shelf. “Of course.”

 

“I was really bored last night and playing on my phone, and - did you make your Instagram account private?”

 

She freezes with one book halfway to the shelf and ducks her head so that he can’t see her face. “Yes.”

 

“Was it because of people leaving rude comments? Because of _my fans_ leaving rude comments?”

 

Betty puts the book on the shelf and then grabs another. Huxley. She sets it aside and roots around for another B author. “Rude comments on my Instagram aren’t anything new for me,” she says carefully. The last thing she wants is for him to feel like it’s his fault; Jughead doesn’t control thirteen year olds on social media any more than she does. “That predates you.”

 

“I noticed,” he says quietly. “But it got worse, after me. Right?”

 

Betty chews her lower lip and sighs. She was hoping to avoid this conversation, but now that it’s here, she figures it’s best to just get it over with. She folds her hands in her lap and turns slightly so that she can look at him. “I’ve had some … problems, in the past, with depression and anxiety,” she says, her voice cracking with nerves despite her attempts to keep it steady. “The comments weren’t all bad. Some of them were very nice. But it was a lot of drama…” she trails off, not wanting to see the concern in his eyes anymore. “I’m trying to be better at protecting myself. So I made it private.”

 

She’s still not looking at him, but Betty can hear Jughead give a heavy sigh and drop his hand to the countertop. Then he steps toward her and seems to hesitate before he eventually squats and sits down beside her. He places a hand on her forearm and rubs her skin slowly. “Betty, I’m - I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice heavy. He sighs again and shakes his head. “I don’t want things to be bad for you because of me.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” she says, putting her hand over top of his and looking at his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just a private account - that’s probably better anyway.” She rubs the back of his hand and ducks her head to try to get him to look at her. “Jug.”

 

Jughead lifts his head. His face breaks her heart; he looks wracked with guilt. “This feels backwards,” he finally says, nodding his head toward her. “I understand if you don’t want--”

 

Betty frowns, sensing what he’s going to say, and interrupts him. “I’m not going to stop being friends with you just because of some people on the internet. I’ve never let any of those people dictate what I do in the past and I’m not gonna start now. Besides, it wasn’t just - it was mostly not your fans. It was people that I know. And that has nothing to do with you.”

 

Jughead tilts his head to the side. “Did something happen?” he asks, his eyes searching her face.

 

She swallows. “Everything’s fine,” she answers. “Now come on, those plates aren’t going to unpack themselves. Although that does seem to have been your strategy to this point.”

 

He’s still looking at her intently, eyes moving back and forth across her face as if he’s trying to figure out whether she’s lying. He doesn’t seem satisfied by her answer, but he eventually nods and stands up anyway. “Hey, I unpacked one before!”

 

“Mhm. You put a big dent in the pile for sure.” Betty smiles and turns back to the books. She has them on the shelf within half an hour, organized alphabetically by last name, and when the door buzzes with the pizza Betty insists on answering it so that Jughead doesn’t have to deal with a potentially starstruck delivery boy.

 

Besides, Betty ends up knowing the kid. He’s the younger brother of one of the only people in high school that was ever nice to her, Ethel Muggs, and is just as sweet as she is. He’s pimply-faced and gangly but delivered a hot, delicious-smelling pizza, so Betty tips well and gives him a kind smile. The boy stammers a nervous “thanks Betty” and then hurries away.

 

Jughead, who’s been watching from across the room, stands up and takes the pizza from her. “Let me give you cash. How much was it?”

 

“Twenty bucks,” Betty says. “I gave him a good tip too. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow at her and flashes a half-grin. “From what I could see, you answering the door was better than any tip you could’ve given that kid.”

 

Betty opens the lid of the pizza box and closes her eyes briefly while she smells the delicious greasy scent. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean he kept trying not to stare at you, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. That second you turned around to put the pizza down was probably the best second of his life.”

 

Betty looks at him disapprovingly, her jaw slightly ajar. “Oh, come on.”

 

Jughead shrugs and casually takes a couple of bills from his wallet. “Just telling you what I saw. If I was a skinny teenager delivering pizzas and a gorgeous blonde opened the door, I’d be pretty pumped.”

 

She looks down at the slices of pizza on her plate, her cheeks flaming red. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop a small smile from escaping. Even if he’s just being polite, which Betty is sure he must be, it still feels really nice to hear something like that from someone other than her sister or her gay best friend. And Jughead had said it so casually and matter-of-factly, like it was just another thing that was true about the world. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Betty is gorgeous.

 

She knows she shouldn’t dwell on it, but fuck it, she’s going to anyway.

 

“You’re very sweet,” Betty says to her pizza. She picks up her plate and moves toward the tall stools under the breakfast bar. As she passes him, she stands on tiptoe and brushes her lips against his cheek.

 

“I mean it,” Jughead says, holding a hand out to stop her in her tracks. “I know the kind of shit those people were saying. And they’re fucking wrong. At the risk of being that guy - you really are so beautiful, Betty. Someone like you should know how awesome they are. So many things about you are just … you’re smart, and kind, and I just don’t know what the hell is wrong with some people.”

 

“Jug,” Betty says softly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She puts a hand on the arm that’s blocking her way and slips it down his soft skin until she’s clutching his hand. “Thank you.” She squeezes his fingers and touches her forehead to his bicep briefly, then releases his hand and goes to sit at the breakfast bar.

 

They eat the pizza, then unpack the rest of his boxes. It takes them two hours, but Betty manages to organize his kitchen cabinets and his linen closet to her satisfaction. At ten they eat celebratory peanut butter sandwiches, and by midnight Betty is practically falling asleep on the couch, so she bids him goodnight and heads home.

 

 **_I had a really good time tonight,_ ** Betty texts him once she’s home. **_Thanks for everything._ **

 

 **_Thank YOU,_ ** Jughead responds. **_I’ve never lived in a more organized apartment. You’re going to have to come over again so you can enjoy the fruits of your labour._ **

 

Betty smiles at that and sends him back the emoji of the moon with the smile on its face, then crawls into bed and falls fast asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you give me hell for the first part of this chapter, just know that I place the blame entirely on jeemyjamz.
> 
> PS thank you again for all the reviews! I really appreciate it, especially when you guys leave them here vs. Tumblr - I am very feedback driven and having it all in one place is super helpful when I need a little extra boost :)


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - the original version of this chapter was a draft which was missing a couple of lines in the last scene which I added after. I have updated it. WTF ao3.

_“Time moves in both directions - forward and backward - and what happens here and now changes them both.”_

  * Nicola Yoon, Everything, Everything



  


He thought the chairs would’ve been nicer.

 

Jughead is standing in the general recreation room of a retirement home, staring at the hard plastic chairs that are set out. They’re supposed to be used by not only him and visitors like him, but also by actual residents of the home, some of whom must have limited mobility. Jughead doesn’t have to sit on them to know that they’re uncomfortable as fuck, which really doesn’t make any sense to him - haven’t these people earned the right to better chairs by now? With _cushions?_

 

Jughead makes a mental note to look into donations for the facility. This is ridiculous.

 

He supposes he could always ask Betty, too. After all, she’s the only reason he’s here. He’d had another long week of night shoots, which aren’t his favourite. He _is_ sort of a night owl naturally, so it’s not really about sleep, but there’s something about sitting on a set waiting to do the same scene eighteen times at five in the morning that Jughead’s sure can’t be appealing for anybody. He isn’t alone in this - Veronica and Archie have also been complaining about the schedule, though Veronica has a week off right away so Jughead kinda thinks she should shut the fuck up.

 

He’s never liked night shoots much, but he dislikes them even more on this particular movie, because Betty is asleep while he’s at work and he can’t text her during breaks. She’s stayed up a couple of times, but she still has to go to work at her parents’ paper and do other things during the day, and Jughead doesn’t want her to lose sleep just because Archie is annoying at four in the morning and he’s incapable of downloading enough cell phone games to keep himself occupied. As a result, Jughead doesn’t get to talk to Betty that much; when he’s asleep, she’s awake, and when he’s awake, she’s asleep. There are a few hours of overlap in the evening, but the shoots aren’t exactly a strict eight hours or anything - on the contrary, some of the nights are ridiculously long, lasting twelve-plus hours - and there’s not always a lot of time to talk to her.

 

Shit like this makes Jughead hate his job some days. But then again, if he’d just gone to trade school and become a mechanic or some shit like this, he would’ve never gone to Riverdale, NY, and he would’ve never met Betty.

 

Not that they’re married now, or anything. It’s still only been a couple of weeks. But she’s _awesome,_ and he’s stupidly into her now, especially since she helped him organize his apartment and told him not to worry about the stupid crap his fangirls had been harassing her with. (He worries anyway, but it’s sweet of her to not want him to.)

 

Thursday was his last night shoot, and in an effort to make up for lost time, Jughead had asked Betty to hang out on Saturday with him. She’d partially declined at first, telling him in her sweet, lilting voice that she has a commitment in the morning but that she’d be done around noon, unless he’d like to tag along.

 

At that point, his options are laying in bed and thinking about when he gets to see Betty, or actually going and seeing Betty - regardless of whatever her errand was.

 

 _Uh, yeah._ He wants to tag along.

 

It turns out that Betty’s commitment is another volunteer thing. Reading to kids doesn’t appear to be enough overachieving cliche for Betty, and apparently she also spends most Saturday mornings at Riverdale’s retirement home, visiting and playing chess with some of the residents. Some of them, as she’d noted soberly on the phone the night before, no longer have family nearby or even if they do, they don’t visit a lot. People deserved better than that no matter what their age, she’d told him fiercely, but especially because these people _built_ Riverdale.

 

She’s really dedicated to the small town, Jughead observes. He thinks it’s sweet. Nobody is dedicated to LA.

 

Every time that they’ve hung out, Betty has either walked over or picked him up in her car. Today, she let him pick her up at her parents’ house, which is an idyllic-looking two-storey in a nice neighbourhood. _Careful, cliche, classic,_ he’d thought, parking in front of the house and pulling his phone out of his pocket. She’d said not to come to the door - she hadn’t really wanted to elaborate, but he’s the king of uncomfortable parenting issues and she doesn’t have to ask twice - so he’d texted instead.

 

It’s then that Jughead had discovered the best part about picking Betty up: her walk from the door to his car. There’s a fifteen-second span between when she’d slipped through the front door to when she’d hopped in the passenger seat where he’d been able to just stare at her without it being weird. Today, she’s wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt with long sleeves and a pair of denim shorts, and those fifteen seconds had come in very handy.

 

“So what kind of stuff do you do with the residents?” Jughead asks, watching Betty shift around some of the chairs.

 

She glances over at him, smiling sweetly, and he feels like he’s been kicked in the head. “Just depends. We watch a little TV first. Sometimes we do bingo if people want, but usually I just kind of take turns sitting with some of the residents and talking to them. They like to hear about Polly and my parents and what’s going on around town. Sometimes I read the newspaper to them. So when they come in, you can do whatever you want.” She tugs another chair into place and then walks over to him, looking a little apologetic. “As a warning, most of them will probably have absolutely no idea who you are.”

 

Jughead grins. “That’s perfect,” he says.

 

The residents start to trickle in. There’s coffee and tea in the corner; Jughead expects that most of them will go straight there, but they all make a beeline for Betty and give her hugs. She greets them each with a personal, warm smile, and once the twenty or so of them are sitting down, Betty motions for Jughead to come over to stand beside her.

 

He obeys, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

 

“Morning everyone!” she says, speaking clearly and more loudly than usual. “Before I put the TV on, I want to introduce a friend of mine. This is Jughead. He’s one of the actors in the movie that they’re filming here.” She elbows him. “Say hi.”

 

Jughead clears his throat. “Uh, hey everybody. Betty said she was coming to see you guys, and I figured I’d come hang out too, if that’s alright.”

 

“He’s from California, but we won’t hold that against him,” Betty jokes, grabbing his arm. She smiles at him, flips the TV on, and then goes to start making her rounds.

 

Jughead stands in the centre of the oddly clinical room for a moment, not sure what to do. He figures he could start by not being an awkward fuck, so he goes to sit next to a friendly-looking older lady. She’s holding a newspaper and looks over when he sits down.

 

“Hi ma’am, I’m Jughead,” he says, holding out his hand to introduce himself. “Mind if I sit?”

 

The woman smiles kindly at him and shakes it. “It’s Estelle, dear, and of course not. Scooch closer.” She folds her hands on her lap. “So you're a friend of Betty's, eh? Tell me dear, what sort of a name is Jughead?”

 

Jughead laughs, accustomed to this question. He scratches his ear and rattles off his usual press answer. “It’s an old nickname. My real name is Forsythe, but I don’t really-”

 

“Forsythe,” Estelle repeats. “My first boyfriend’s name was Forsythe. He was a real looker. Great with his hands.” She reaches over and grabs Jughead’s hand, patting it. “How are you liking Riverdale, dear?”

 

“It’s nice,” Jughead says as he nods, his cheeks burning a little. “I’m from Los Angeles, so this is a real change of pace. But I like it. Really clean, really nice people.” He glances over toward Betty, who’s sitting with an old man in a wheelchair and smiling intently.

 

Estelle makes a tut-tut noise with her tongue. “Well if you’ve met Betty, you’re on the right track, young man. She’s an angel, that girl, a real sweetheart. Comes almost every weekend to see us old folks. She’s got half the men in this place wrapped around her finger and doesn’t even know it.”

 

Jughead grins. “Oh yeah?” He looks over toward Betty again, knowing that she probably wouldn’t see it that way and loving the psuedo-insider information. “I could see that.”

 

Estelle gives him a look. “Just look at Bernie over there. He’s head over heels. Whenever Betty’s supposed to come, Bernie gets this big smile on his grumpy old face.” She laughs, wheezing slightly. “She brought me fresh cookies two weeks ago, my grandkids loved them.”

 

“How old are your grandkids?”

 

“Four, seven, and twelve,” Estelle says proudly. She lets go of Jughead’s hand and reaches for her shoulder bag. “Let me show you some pictures.”

 

Jughead sits with Estelle for almost half an hour, looking through photos of her children and grandchildren and listening to her talk about her former career as a receptionist at a realty firm in Manhattan. Then Estelle goes to join a game of bridge and Jughead reads the financial section of the newspaper to a surly gentleman whose name - “Sal” - is muttered gruffly. Jughead likes him best.

 

Jughead isn’t sure how long Betty usually spends at the retirement home, but they’ve been there for about two and a half hours by the time the residents trickle back to their rooms. He helps Betty put the chairs away, then they turn the TV off and head to his car. He opens the passenger door for her and winks at her once she climbs in, taking note of the faint pink flush of her cheeks. He hops in the driver’s side and looks over at her.

 

“That was actually really fun.”

 

Betty smiles. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. They liked having you there. It’s always nice when different people come.”

 

“Well, I’ll be sure to come again,” he promises. “Even if only to watch you with your fan club.”

 

She looks at him with a confused smile. “My what?”

 

Jughead grins at her. “Your fan club. They loved you, Betty. All of them. Though a particular few were _big_ fans - one of the ladies, Estelle, told me that you’ve got - and I quote - ‘half the men in that place wrapped around your finger’.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes and buckles her seat belt. “She’s just talking about Bernie. He always says I look like his late wife. Kind of awkward, because sometime he calls me ‘flower’ which is apparently what he used to call her, but he’s sweet and harmless.”

 

“Mhm.” He nudges her arm. “Where do you want to go for lunch, flower?”

  


* * *

 

 

They end up at Pop’s, despite Betty’s warnings that it’s probably going to be filled with people who will want photos with him. Jughead doesn’t really care; he doesn’t mind taking pictures with fans, and he really wants a burger. A big, greasy burger. There’s not even a McDonald’s in Riverdale, and given the way that Pop’s tastes, Jughead understands why. They'd never match the competition.

 

When they get there it’s about half-full. Betty doesn’t seem bothered by anybody who’s there, so he takes that to mean that none of the people who are assholes to her are in attendance. She picks a booth toward the back again and sits facing the door; when he slides in across from her, he realizes that this is probably because that way he’s less recognizable.

 

A large black man in a white hat comes out to take their order. He shakes Jughead’s hand and introduces himself. “I'm Pop Tate,” he greets, “thanks for coming in.”

 

Jughead takes a second to realize that this is _the_ Pop. “You’re the owner!” he says when it dawns on him, earning a small giggle from Betty. “Nice to meet you. Great place you’ve got here.”

 

“Thank you, we do what we can. Betty, how ya doin’?”

 

“I’m doing okay, Pop, thanks for asking.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll have a burger and fries, and Jughead will have…”

 

“The same,” he supplies. “I’m addicted.”

 

Pop laughs, a hearty guffaw that warms Jughead to his fingertips. “Comin’ right up. And thank you, son. I’ve seen you in a couple of times, figured I’d come introduce myself this time. Hope you enjoy your time in Riverdale - you’ve found yourself the best possible tour guide.” He gives Betty a kind smile.

 

Jughead smiles at her too and then looks up at Pop. “That’s what people tell me. So far she’s lived up to the hype.”

 

Betty shakes her head ruefully. “Jug,” she admonishes, “there’s no _hype.”_

 

“I’m sure there is, Betty,” Pop informs her, laughing again. “There’s a reason I asked you to show my niece around when she was here last year. You're supposed to put your best foot forward, and you’re definitely Riverdale’s best foot.”

 

“Well, I appreciate that, Pop,” Betty says, still shaking her head. “You’re always so good to me.”

 

Pop waves his hand dismissively. “You deserve it, Betty. Don’t forget that. I’ll get Diane to bring you guys a couple of waters.” He smooths his apron and lowers his voice a little, adding an air of seriousness that hadn’t been there before. “He seems like a decent kid but you let me know if he gives you any trouble, alright?”

 

Jughead watches as Betty blushes and waves him away. He quirks his head back toward the direction of the counter, where Pop has disappeared. “Lots of people in this town seem to love you,” he comments.

 

“The adults,” Betty says. Immediately, her head snaps up and she looks shocked, like she hadn’t intended to let that slip out. “I mean, he’s just a little protective,” she continues, the words coming out in a rush. “But that’s a story for another time.”

 

Jughead is beyond curious but manages to stop himself from prodding further. He just nods and accepts the glass of water that a waitress sets in front of him. Betty smiles her thanks at the waitress and takes a sip of hers as well. He watches her slide the glass to the side of the table and catches a glimpse of several dark red marks on her palm. His eyes flick up to Betty’s face, who is looking out the window and is unaware of him staring at her hand. He’s not sure what the marks are, but Jughead gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and figures that it must be connected to the mental health issues she’d previously told him about.

 

He wants to ask her about them, but there’s a muscle in her jaw that keeps tensing as she monitors the parking lot, and Jughead just looks away instead. He’s not here to judge; he knows better than anyone that people have multiple, sometimes unexpected sides. Anyone who is as outwardly happy and upbeat as Betty appears to be all the time would _need_ to have secrets. He wants to know what they are, of course - curiosity is part of human nature - but he’s also hit with the unfamiliar desire to have her know his secrets, too.

 

Jughead taps his foot against Betty’s under the table. “Hey babe.”

 

She looks over at him, cheeks pink again. God, he loves making her blush. “Yeah?”

 

“I’m really glad I took the bus from the city.”

 

Betty casts her eyes toward her water briefly before biting her lip and looking back up at him. “I’m glad you did too.”

  


* * *

 

 

Jughead walks into Archie’s apartment the next day to find Veronica and Archie lounging on the couch together, Veronica’s head on Archie’s chest and his arm thrown across her waist. He takes one look at their cozy position and rolls his eyes. One day he would like to see if Archie could be in a movie with a pretty girl that he wasn’t also fucking in real life.

 

He and Archie were supposed to play video games in their sweatpants and be generally disgusting for a few hours, but now that Veronica’s here he figures that probably won’t happen. His first instinct is to go turn around and go back to his own apartment, but there’s an open box of Oreos on Archie’s counter, and the next thing he knows Jughead is sitting on an armchair, hand in the box, and listening to Veronica complain about an upcoming scene where she has to fall into the river.

 

“My _hair,_ though,” she’s saying, drumming her fingernails on the hardwood floor. “It’s going to be brutal.”

 

Jughead is trying hard not to say something that he’ll regret later, and has to focus very hard on the knowledge that she’s pretty much always led a life of incredible privilege and doesn’t understand actual problems. She’d come from a rich family and then promptly became a rich adult herself; he’d become an actor _because_ his family had no money. She’s the kind of privileged that bothers Jughead the most - unaware. Of course, he’s very cognizant of the fact that as a straight white male, things have fallen into his lap, especially as a young, “cute” actor in the industry. He’s seen Veronica take part in a few panels about people of colour and representation and has always found her to speak quite eloquently on that subject, which is why it shocks him so much that she seems to have no concept of the effect of money on a person’s life. Jughead remembers having no money as a kid; the struggle to find some and keep it had taken over his family’s whole life. He will never not be grateful now for the flexibility he has, and thinks that maybe people like Veronica would benefit from a short experience like that.

 

Of course, it’s not entirely her fault, though he thinks she could be making more of an effort to educate herself on the real world. Now hardly seems like the time or place for him to comment on that, though, so instead he just asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be in New York this week?”

 

“I’m going tomorrow, don’t worry,” she says in an almost bored tone. “Then you can have Archiekins all to yourself.”

 

Jughead snorts. “Good, I can’t wait, _Archiekins.”_

 

Archie throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off, bro. Just because you’re not getting - actually, hey, how _is_ your girl?”

 

“My girl?” he asks, knowing full well who Archie is referring to.

 

“That girl from the bus,” Archie supplies, running a hand through Veronica’s hair and immediately getting it smacked away.

 

“Ah.” He nods. “Uh, good. She’s good.” He scratches his head. “Nothing to report.”

 

Veronica makes a sympathetic noise and snuggles backward into Archie. “Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”

 

“There’s not-” Jughead stops, exasperated. “We’re just-”

 

“Friends?” Archie asks.

 

Jughead shrugs. “Not exactly, I don’t think, I dunno. Nothing’s happened, if that’s what you mean, but I think she likes me. I also think the fame thing weirds her out. She seems really reluctant to do anything that is obviously connected to me being Jughead Jones, famous actor. It’s like she’s aggressively trying to not take advantage of it.”

 

Archie sits up a little, tugging Veronica with him. “What do you mean, bro?”

 

Jughead drops his head backward, letting his neck bend over the back of the chair. “I dunno,” he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Like, I’ve invited her to meet you guys, I invited her to set, I asked if she wanted to check out the script, even -- and she just kind of smiles and dismisses the offers.”

 

Veronica swings her legs over to the ground and sits up, straightening her skirt. “Jughead, I don’t know how to tell you this, but maybe she’s just not into _scripts.”_

 

“She is, though,” Jughead insists. “That’s one of the reasons we hit it off to begin with. She’s a huge film nerd and cinephile. She’d be _really_ into visiting set. But the instagram thing - she hasn’t even posted anything at all about me since the first time we met on the bus, and people were still such dicks to her because of stuff that _I’ve_ posted that she had to make her account private.”

 

“Jesus,” Archie swears. “That can’t be easy.”

 

“Yeah, definitely not,” Veronica says, making a disapproving face. “Hell, I’m used to it, and that shit still gets to me.” She raises her voice an octave. “‘Ron, watch those thighs!’” she mimics. “Like, fuck off. My curves are part of who I am.”

 

Jughead makes brief eye contact with Archie, who looks as taken aback as he feels. “People actually say shit like that to you?” he asks Veronica.

 

She gives him a look that he’s pretty sure could wither him to nothing if she tried hard enough. “I know it’s hard to believe, but the Internet isn’t generally that nice of a place unless you’re - well, like you guys. Hot, young, famous white _dudes.”_ She shrugs and glances at Archie. “Maybe ‘getting used to it’ is the wrong phrase. But you start learning how not to pay attention to it. That would be hard for Betty, though.”

 

Jughead bites his lip and looks at Veronica for a long moment. Maybe he’s underestimated her. “Any advice?” he asks. “Maybe if I posted something like, ‘fuck off and leave her alone’--”

 

“That would make it worse, trust me,” Veronica replies with a derisive snort. “I’ll think on it, though. I know you said you invited her to meet us, but I could definitely talk to her about it if you wanted.”

 

Jughead nods, mentally filing that offer away to mention to Betty. “I really, really appreciate how careful she seems to be with stuff about us,” he says. He sits up all the way and sighing in frustration. “It’s nice to know that she’s not just friends with me because I’m famous. You guys know how hard that is to find! But I’d love to share that side of it with her a little - at least stuff like the set, that kind of thing. Stuff she’d really be interested in. I just don’t know how to bring it up.”

 

“That’s tough, bro,” Archie sympathizes. “I hope it works out. Though I do kind of love that a girl is making you work for it.”

 

Veronica lightly smacks Archie’s arm, then crosses her legs and drags her fingernail across her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you don’t have to bring it up,” she says slowly. “What if you just brought her to set after it’s closed? I’m sure if you asked Steven he’d have no problem with it. There’s security there, just give them a heads up, y’know? The set with some of the interiors in that old barn that the studio bought probably would work.”

 

Jughead is impressed; that’s actually not a horrible idea. “That way it would be just us and security, and she wouldn’t have to feel like she was just trying to meet famous people,” he agrees. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Veronica.”

 

“Every now and then I do have a stroke of genius,” she states matter-of-factly, smoothing her collar. “Okay, I better go finish packing. See you later, Archiekins.” She leans over and kisses Archie, then smiles at Jughead. “Let me know how it goes, Casanova.”

 

“Will do,” Jughead says. “Thanks for your help, Ron.” He waits until she’s gone, then he looks at Archie and says, “This isn’t person-specific, because I really like Veronica, but - I just wanted to check. You know you don’t _have_ to sleep with every girl you meet, right?”

 

“Fuck off,” Archie says affectionately. _“Call of Duty?”_

 

Jughead grins and grabs a controller. “Prepare to die.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and the love. You guys are awesome.


	6. six

_And clenching your fist for the ones like us_   
_Who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,_   
_You fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,  
We are ugly but we have the music" _

  * Leonard Cohen, “Chelsea Hotel No. 2”



  
  


Betty’s never been into fashion.

 

Or, not _really,_ anyway. It’s kind of like the Top 40 - she keeps a casual eye on it, knows what’s generally in and what’s not, but it’s not her main focus. There are things that she prefers to wear, colours she likes best, and styles she feels most comfortable in, sure, but they’re all pretty heavily influenced by what her mother had deemed years ago to be appropriate for _nice young girls_ to wear. Skirts, sweaters, cardigans - lots and lots of cardigans, all generally in the pastel family, nice and nonthreatening.

 

Betty’s actually okay with this. She doesn’t really feel the need to have a complete makeover or anything - not yet, at least. Enough things have been unstable over the last year without her trading her Keds for heels and her jeans for miniskirts. She likes being approachable, likes pink, likes flat shoes. She’d never judge anyone for the opposite, of course, but black jackets and tight red dresses just aren’t her thing. Not even for a certain new guy she’s been hanging out with.

 

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts to communicate this, Kevin has absolutely refused to accept it.

 

“Betty. He asked you on a _date._ You can’t go in your jeans,” Kevin had said, standing over her in her bedroom with his hands on his hips. “We are going shopping.”

 

This is how Betty ends up standing in the middle of a store in the Greendale mall, with Kevin and one of the store’s sales associates both thrusting various items of clothing at her. She accepts a light yellow dress primarily on the basis of its colour alone, even though she has a feeling the skirt will be a little too short for her liking, and rejects a pair of black leather shorts that - well really, who are those _made_ for?

 

“Now what kind of date is this going to be?” the sales associate asks, dragging her hands through a rack of dresses. “How fancy are we talking?”

 

“It’s not a date,” Betty says, for what feels like the tenth time since they’d arrived. “He just asked me to hang out and said he had a surprise for me. So I don’t actually know where we’re going - but it’s not a date.”

 

The sales associate, a girl in her early twenties with a nose ring and a vibrant streak of purple in her hair, looks at Kevin. “How hot is the guy?”

 

Kevin leans over to her confidentially, but he doesn’t lower his voice at all. “Do you know who Jughead Jones is?” he asks, picking up a pink dress and examining it.

 

Betty is not embarrassed about her friendship with Jughead (if anything, it’s _him_ that should be ashamed). Not in the slightest. He’s funny and smart and (as she’s learned recently) very sweet. In any other scenario, she’d be shouting for the rooftops that a guy like this had flirted with her. But he’s been in the public eye since he was in his early teens, and the last thing she wants is for any more of Jughead’s personal life to be invaded by strangers. It’s none of this girl’s business. Betty is actually mildly irked at Kevin for bringing it up and is about to change the subject when the girl nods.

 

“Well, this dude looks _just_ like him.”

 

The girl looks at Betty for a second, then takes the pink dress from Kevin’s hand and replaces it with a different dress. This one is pear green and is the same kind of fit-and-flare style that Betty likes. She’s intrigued.

 

“This will make her eyes look awesome. Go try it on,” she advises.

 

Betty looks at the dress again and then takes it from Kevin’s hand. “Okay,” she agrees, then follows the girl into the dressing rooms and steps into the one that she unlocks.

 

“Let me know if you need any more sizes,” she says, then leaves.

 

Betty stares at herself in the mirror. In her jeans and t-shirt, she’s plain, but not _horrible,_ she thinks. “Kevin, are you _sure_ I need to get a new dress for this?” she calls through the door. “What if his surprise is like, he liked me organizing his books so can I please organize his closet, and here I am in this dress?”

 

“Just try it on, Betts,” Kevin sighs, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Remember when I went on my first date with Moose, and you helped me pick between three identical shirts that I already owned?”

 

She bites her lip and tugs her shirt off. “Yeah, I remember. You said the new shirt would give you a confidence boost, even if it was the same one you had already.”

 

“And it worked,” Kevin confirms. “And Moose definitely worked too, that boy has a mouth like-”

 

“Too much information,” Betty giggles, slipping out of her jeans. She steps into the dress and pulls the straps over her shoulders, then zips it up on the side. She hooks the clasp at the top and then turns to look at herself in the mirror. _Huh._ It’s not that bad, she thinks. The straps are thin and the bodice is a bit tighter and more revealing than she’s accustomed to, but the skirt flows down from the waist and it’s really comfortable.

 

There’s a knock on her dressing room door. “How’s it fitting, Betty?”

 

Betty runs her hands over the top and sighs, then unlocks the dressing room door. She steps out and turns in a slow circle to show Kevin. “What’s the verdict?” she asks nervously.

 

“Betty,” he says, lifting a hand to his heart. “You are so going to ride that Hollywood pony.”

 

Her jaw drops and she blushes furiously. “Kev!”

 

He holds his hands up. “Just saying. That sales girl has a good eye. The colour is really you, so on the surface it’s like, you’re still innocent Betty. But then that _top.”_

 

Betty smiles and steps back into the dressing room to look at herself in the mirror again. “Yeah?”

 

Kevin nods and looks at her seriously. “Your boobs look incredible. And your waist is _tiny.”_

 

She bites her bottom lip and looks at her chest in the mirror. It’s definitely not the worst she’s looked. Betty knows she shouldn’t buy a new dress just because of compliments from a friend, or even because it’ll give her confidence, and definitely not because a guy might like it on her, but … well, she _wants_ to. Kevin had accused her earlier of being in ‘open denial’ about the idea that Jughead might be interested her in more than a friendly way. Jughead’s use of the word ‘babe’ has increased recently, and he’s been sweet enough to give her a few compliments, but there’s still a part of Betty that isn’t totally convinced. He could have anyone in the world - why would he want her, of all people?

 

But if he does … well, there was no harm in looking nice.

 

She buys the dress.

  


* * *

 

 

Betty spends the next day trying to keep herself busy. She alternates between being excited about Jughead’s impending surprise and mentally cursing Kevin for getting her hopes up about the surprise. Her parents have gone to a journalism seminar in New York for the weekend, which ends up having a couple of advantages for her. One is that she’s been left in charge of finalizing the Monday issue and sending it to print, which occupies almost her entire day after she gets home from volunteering.

 

The second advantage to her parents being gone is that they’re not around to badger her with questions when she gets ready to go out with Jughead. There are no questions about why she bought a new dress, or why she’s left her hair down and curled it more nicely than usual, or why she’s put her cardigan in her bag instead of wearing it out. There are also no questions about _who_ she’s going out with, which is especially important since her overprotective parents would likely have a lot to say about her hanging out with a famous actor. Betty’s going to tell them eventually, if need be, but she’s not quite ready to do that yet.

 

She’s drawn the line at wearing heels, so when Jughead texts her **_I’m outside_ ** _,_ Betty slips her feet into flat, strappy sandals instead. She bids Polly farewell and heads out, smiling when she sees Jughead’s car waiting at the curb.

 

He hops out as soon as she closes the front door and comes around to open the passenger side door for her. Betty smiles as she walks toward him and raises her eyebrows once she reaches the car. “Full service,” she observes.

 

“Yeah, I’m pulling out all the stops,” Jughead grins. He slides one arm around her waist and tugs her into a hug in greeting. “You look beautiful, Betty.”

 

Betty leans into his embrace. He’s warm, and part of her wishes they could just do this all night. But then she remembers his surprise, and she gets excited again. “Thank you,” she says. He’s wearing the same jeans as he usually does, but his button-up shirt fits him really well and he’s not wearing the old beanie that she’s come to expect. Betty actually likes his weird hat - it seems like such a part of him, and she could never begrudge him that - but she likes his hair, too. Tonight it seems to actually be combed, though it’s still falling across his eye in a definitely-not-unappealing sort of way. “So do you,” she adds.

 

“Thanks,” he says, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. “You ready to go?”

 

She nods excitedly and gets into his car. He walks around to the driver’s side, gets in, and then starts driving. She can’t tell exactly where he’s going, which is weird - Betty knows everywhere in Riverdale like the back of her hand, and well, there just aren’t that many places that he could be going - but then he turns onto the highway and now she’s _really_ confused.

 

“So … are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Betty asks, peering out the window at the passing fields. The sun is setting, making its way past the trees and below the horizon, and the sky is filled with warm reds and purples.

 

Jughead glances over at her briefly. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

 

“You haven’t been playing some kind of long game to murder me in the woods, have you?” she asks. “Because I think I’ve seen this movie before.”

 

He laughs and shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, the word seeming to pop with finality. Betty sighs; she gets the picture. He’s not going to tell her.

 

“Okay,” she replies uncertainly, fighting the urge to fidget with her hands. She instead presses them flat against her lap and watches Jughead slow the car down in preparation for a left-hand turn.

 

She peers around him to see the grid road that they’re about to turn onto, and then it dawns on her.

 

“Are we going to the old Halvorson barn?!” she asks, her toes tapping excitedly in her sandals. “The one Paramount bought for you guys to film in?”

 

“It’s barely a barn anymore, but yeah,” Jughead answers, smiling nervously. “Is that - I thought you’d be interested to see one of the sets, but you never seemed to want to come when people were around, so…” he trails off, pressing his lips together, and then turns down another gravel road. “I got permission, if you’re worried. And there’s a security guard. But otherwise we’ve got the place to ourselves for a bit.”

 

Betty doesn’t know what to say. He’s invited her to various sets on at least a few occasions, but she’s always felt uncomfortable with the idea of visiting him there while he’s filming. She doesn’t want to distract him at all or make him feel like he has to babysit her, and she really doesn’t want anyone else who may be there to think that she’s only hanging around with him to gain access to sets and to even more celebrities. She wants to be friends with him because she likes him as a person, and even though _yeah,_ she’s dying to see a real film set, it’s always felt like taking advantage. But this - nobody will even know she’s been here. There won’t have to be any questions about why she’s there or pushback for him. She’s touched by the gesture.

 

They drive for another half a mile and then pull into a makeshift parking lot outside a large building that Betty knows was once a large barn. It looks nothing like it now: the peeling red paint has been replaced by off-white polyurethane siding, the large doors are different, too, and there are several large trailers parked around the building. Jughead stops the car and looks over at her. “Is this okay?” he asks.

 

Betty looks over at him and nods fervently. “Yes, yes, sorry, I was just - I’m so excited, Jug, how did you--”

 

“I’m the star, Betty,” Jughead laughs, hopping out of the car. He comes around to her side, but she’s already slid out herself, and he gives her a mildly reproachful look before continuing. “Like, above-the-title. I do have _some_ pull. And before you say anything, yes, I want to use it for you.”

 

She bites her lower lip, speechless again. So she just nods. This seems to satisfy Jughead, who grabs her hand and pulls her toward the door.

 

They’re let in by a security guard that Jughead greets with a casual, “Hey Mike.” Even if he hadn’t told her that he’d gotten permission, it would definitely be obvious by now that this was prearranged, because the security guard just smiles at them and waves them through.

 

“Wow,” Betty breathes, looking around. There are cameras and large black cases neatly arranged around the large space, which also holds interior sets for part of a kitchen and what looks like two bedrooms. She feels herself pulling her hand from Jughead’s as she wanders around, checking out the set details in the bedrooms.

 

There’s a dog-eared copy of _Metamorphosis_ on one of the bookshelves with actual annotations inside. Betty recalls it being mentioned in the book version of _Sweetwater,_ a clear throwaway line that she remembers primarily because she’d just finished reading it herself beforehand. She’s overwhelmed by the attention to detail. She feels herself getting mildly emotional about one of her favourite books coming to life in this way and steps out of the bedroom set before it escalates to actual tears.

 

Most of the expensive cameras have been locked away, but Betty is still fascinated by the ones that have been left out. She holds her hands together so that she doesn’t touch something and break it accidentally, but god, does she want to. She wants to sit and talk about the components and the lenses and - well, that’s another reason that she’s glad nobody else is here. The operators and assistant directors don’t need some girl harassing them.

 

“Betty, c’mere.”

 

She turns at the sound of Jughead’s voice and sees him standing at the side, next to an old ladder that leads to whatever is left of the old hayloft. Most of it has been cut down for equipment access, but there’s a small part that seems to be reinforced well enough, and it’s obvious that Jughead intends for her to go up to it. He climbs up a few rungs and waves at her.

 

_Oh, what the hell._

 

Betty skips over to the ladder and follows him up once his feet are clear of her head. She begins to tug self-consciously at her skirt even though she knows no one is around beneath her, but forgets all about modesty concerns when Jughead offers his hand and tugs her up the rest of the way.

 

“C’mere,” Jughead says again, taking a few steps out so one of the beams isn’t in their line of sight. The half-loft offers a great view of the general setup of the building, but it doesn’t have any railings and Betty can feel her anxiety rising a little.

 

But he’s smiling at her and holding his hand out, and _fuck it._ She steps over to him and he promptly encircles her waist with his arms, pulling her back to his chest.

 

“Safety first,” he says into her ear.

 

Betty puts her arms over his instinctively, hands clutching his forearms. He’s warm and his voice is still rumbling down her spine in a way that is oddly calming. She breathes slowly and leans her head back against his shoulder, already feeling better. “This is so incredible, Jug.”

 

“Yeah, I mean, we’re filming most of the interiors in actual houses, but none of the ones had a rustic enough kitchen and I think the studio didn’t want to rip up somebody’s home, pay to put an old-style kitchen in, and then pay to renovate it back again. Then I guess if you’re building one, might as well pop a bedroom in since there’s space - but that’s a lot easier to build.”

 

“It looks exactly like I pictured it. Your set decorator must be amazing.”

 

She can feel Jughead nodding behind her. “Anna’s pretty great.” He drops a kiss into her hair. “You should come and see it when everything is up and running.”

 

Betty closes her eyes at the faint pressure on her head. His thumb is rubbing over the side of her abdomen, and it’s making her conjure things in her head involving her and him that she’d never have dreamed of before. _Fuck._ It was getting increasingly difficult for her to manage her own expectations in order to avoid disappointment. “I don’t want to impose,” she says softly.

 

“It’s not imposing if you’re invited.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” she compromises. “Can we get down now? I really like it, but I’m a little - um - it’s a little--”

 

“Scary, yeah,” Jughead agrees. “I definitely had a brief flash where I was like, ‘we’re probably not insured if I fall off this in off-hours.’”

 

He leads her back to the ladder, descends first, and then helps her down. He seems to be intentionally averting his eyes from her skirt, and even though that’s what Betty expects and wants him to be doing, a part of her is oddly disappointed at the same time.

 

When she gets about three rungs from the floor, Betty is suddenly lifted off the ladder. She gives an unexpected yelp but relaxes once it becomes obvious that it’s Jughead who is holding her. She turns as soon as her feet touch the ground and winds her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you for bringing me here, Juggie.”

 

He returns it immediately. “You’re welcome, babe,” he murmurs, kissing her head again. “Ready for dinner?”

 

Betty nods and pulls back. “What’s for dinner?”

  


* * *

 

 

Twenty-five minutes later, Betty is standing in Jughead’s kitchen, smirking at him. “You’re _actually_ making me mac and cheese,” she giggles, folding her arms and leaning against the pantry. “I can’t believe it.”

 

Jughead has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and is concentrating unnecessarily hard on pouring dried pasta into a pot of boiling water. “I believe I said I would make it for you, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, like a week ago!” she laughs, poking his side.

 

“Hey, watch it. Chef at work here.” He turns the heat down and gives the macaroni a stir, then turns to face her. She smiles at him, curious about the new, sort of dusky expression in his eyes, and unashamedly melts into his arms when he wraps them around her once more. “Did I tell you how gorgeous you are yet?” he murmurs into her hair.

 

Betty lets her eyes close softly. “Yeah, but practice makes perfect.”

 

Jughead laughs, the vibration of his chest rumbling down through the rest of his body and into Betty’s. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, then suddenly he’s lifting her and plopping her down on the countertop next to the pot of cooking pasta. “Sit here, babe,” he tells her. “Then I have something pretty to look at while I slave away over this stove.”

 

Betty meets his eyes for a minute and then looks down, her cheeks on fire. She plays with the hem of her skirt self-consciously. God, she likes him so much. And it’s clear now that he likes her too; even she can admit that. But he doesn’t know everything about her, and she’s terrified that when he finds out, it’ll change all of this - whatever it is - between them.

 

“Betty. What’s - did I say something wrong?”

 

It’s the concern in his voice that makes her look up. His blue eyes are full of questions and sadness, which just - _fuck._ She has to tell him. He deserves to know, before he gets in any deeper. So Betty swallows, shakes her head, and says, “I have to tell you something.”

 

Jughead comes to stand in front of her and holds her hands in his. His thumbs rub her knuckles. “You can tell me anything, Betty.”

 

She opens her mouth, but her voice cracks, and she has to stop and take a deep breath before she can begin. “You know how I told you I had some mental health issues? Depression, anxiety.”

 

He nods and squeezes her hands. “Yeah.”

 

“Well, I - I was diagnosed with depression and a panic disorder after I had a panic attack in high school. It was at Pop’s,” she adds, “I used to work there.” A look of realization seems to dawn on Jughead’s face, and Betty stares at her knees so that she can’t see his expressions anymore. “There were this group of truckers that I was serving and they were just … they were being inappropriate, trying to touch me and saying things that you really shouldn’t say to a sixteen year old girl when you’re in your forties. I was trying to be polite, but it wasn’t really working, and I don’t know what came over me, but I just snapped. I threw coffee on them and then they were yelling and basically, I had a panic attack. It was like it wasn’t me, like I was somewhere else, kind of, but also there, just hyperventilating and crying and digging my nails into my hands.”

 

Jughead turns her hands over and gives an audible sigh at the sight of the scars on her palms, once faded but now new again thanks to her run-in with Reggie and Chuck at the river a couple weeks prior. “Betty…”

 

“Cheryl saw it all happen,” Betty continues, afraid that if she doesn’t finish now, she never will. “I thought for a second that she was going to be nice to me, but after that she just made my life hell. She found out somehow that I went to go see a therapist and about my meds and she told everyone that I was crazy. She’s never liked me much - she and my older sister had some kind of rivalry - but she’d never hated me like that before. And after that, I just sort of … I had a few more panic attacks afterward, but I switched doctors and I’m learning how to cope better. I have a new therapist, she’s really nice, she’s - that’s actually why I was in New York when I saw you on the bus, I went to go meet her in person. And it’s why I’m not going to university in the fall. My head - I need to take some time off. A gap year, I guess. So I’m working for my parents and volunteering and maybe if I felt okay in the spring I’ll travel a little, but … yeah.” She exhales in an audible puff. “I thought you should know, before you - I dunno.”

 

“Before I what?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady.

 

Betty tugs her hands from his and starts to wring them together, but Jughead grabs them and pulls them back to him. She stares at them, and then looks up at him. “I really like you,” she confesses. “You’re so nice and sweet and not at all what I would have expected. The things that you’ve said to me are just - it’s kind of hard to hear, in a way, because my mind is kind of against me. It plays tricks on me, as though you don’t actually think I’m pretty and you’re just saying that, even though I - even though I believe you,” she adds with sincerity, biting her lower lip and blushing again. “But if you think I’m just a nice girl from a small town, it’s not fair to you, ‘cause I’ve got an airplane full of baggage. So before you do anything like--”

 

Jughead cuts her off with a swift kiss, just leans in and presses his mouth to hers, hard and soft at the same time. It doesn’t last long; she doesn’t even have time to respond before he’s pulling away. “Before I do anything like that?” he finishes.

 

She stares at him in surprise, mouth slightly ajar. “I-”

 

“I don’t care about any of that, Betty,” he says, shaking his head. He shakes his head and grabs her hips, tugging her closer toward him so that she’s nearer to the edge of the countertop. “I don’t like you because I think you’re some pollyanna from a cute little town. I like you because you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met. You’re funny and smart and we have a lot in common. You’re interested in the industry but not for the reason that most girls seem to be - you don’t give a shit about celebrities and I kinda got the impression today that you’d rather have spent an hour with one of those cameras than an hour with me. Which is sexy as hell,” he adds, catching Betty before she can protest. “Actually, it’s just one of the things that’s sexy as hell about you. Starting with your smile and your good heart.”

 

Betty doesn’t know what do with her hands, so she ends up hooking her fingertips inside the pockets of his jeans, only mildly self-conscious about the way her skirt is splayed across her lap.

 

“Betts, I have been famous since I was thirteen. Believe me, I have baggage too,” Jughead says with a wry smile. “You haven’t even heard about my alcoholic father and absentee mother yet. Listen, I respect the hell out of you for putting your mental health first. That’s hard to do - to know where your limit is and to say, ‘no. I need a break.’ We should all learn how to do that sometimes. But that doesn’t preclude you from being happy, if I - if that’s what you want. Knowing all this, you being so honest and about it, it just makes me like you more.”

 

She exhales, an overwhelming sense of relief settling in her chest and lifting off her shoulders. “Really?”

 

Jughead laughs softly and then he’s kissing her again. This time, Betty puts her hands on his face and returns it, letting him take the lead and guide the slow movements. He doesn’t deepen it, but his hands are vibrating slightly as they tighten on her hips, and Betty can tell that he wants to. When he finally pulls back, she’s breathless. “This can be as little or big as you want it,” he says, dropping a kiss to her nose. “I just really want to be around you and I don’t think I can do that anymore without kissing you, so - this is me giving you a heads up about that.”

 

Betty giggles and drops her head to his neck. She’s so caught off guard by all of this, even though if she’d been honest with herself,  he’s been not very subtle over the last few weeks. It’s still insane to her that he, Jughead Jones, likes _her;_ this kind of thing doesn’t happen to Betty Cooper. The very idea of it is so intimidating that if she thinks about it for longer than a minute, it’s too much; but right now, when she’s actually with him and his hands are touching her and his smile is over her shoulder, it’s nothing but peaceful. Like maybe it’s terrifying, but maybe it’s also the most natural thing in the world.

 

“I want to kiss you too,” she tells him, and then she does. This time, as they kiss, Jughead slides his hands down from her hips to her knees and then back up her thighs. Her skirt bunches in his fists and she sweeps her tongue along the seam of his lips at the feeling of the cold air on her legs.

 

He welcomes it, deepening the kiss and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Betty leans in, pressing her chest to his and tugging at his hair. Jughead drags his mouth down her jaw toward her neck, where he nibbles at her collarbone until he finally stops, letting out a heavy sigh, and rests his forehead against her chin.

 

“Need to drain the macaroni,” he breathes.

 

Betty nods and detangles her fingers from his hair. “Okay.” She looks at him shyly as he raises his head. He gives her a serious look, then grins and kisses her nose playfully, making her giggle.

 

They eat macaroni and cheese on the couch while watching an episode of _Futurama._ Admittedly, Betty spends most of the episode distracted by how hyper-aware she suddenly is of Jughead; now that she knows what his hands feel like when they’re grabbing her legs, she can’t quit thinking about it. She knows she needs to think about this; everything with Jughead is so new and uncertain, and there are a million reasons not to date him.

 

He’s an _actor,_ for one, and a hot and famous one at that. No matter how sweet he is, the chances of her being able to hold his interest for any length of time seem slim. He’s also a public figure, and Betty has already proved herself unable to deal with at least some of the issues related to that. Finally (and most especially), he’s only in Riverdale temporarily. She still wants to go to Columbia or NYU next fall, if she gets in. He lives in LA. It seems like a bad idea, to set herself up for the inevitable heartbreak that will come when Jughead leaves Riverdale and goes home and Betty stays here.

 

But then he reaches over and grabs her hand, and Betty thinks that even if it all blows up in her face, maybe it could be worth it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love! Please drop me a comment and let me know what you think about this chapter.


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this up; my RL is getting a bit busier so updates may be slower coming now. I'm not totally satisfied with how this went, but I had a pre-chapter crisis of my own doing (a failure of my much-touted outline system) and had to make do.

_ “Look closely at the present you are constructing. It should look like the future you dream of.” _

  * Alice Walker



  
  
  


It’s raining in Riverdale - again - but Jughead can’t bring himself to care, because Betty is holding his hand.

 

He is fully aware of how pathetic and eighth-grade his current excitement level is. He’s had girlfriends - beautiful ones, models and actresses that men and women across the country would be jealous of him for even knowing, let alone sleeping with. Sure, none of them were that serious, but still, he’s done this before. And yet here he is, walking along the rain-drenched streets of a small town in upstate New York with his heart bouncing around in his chest, happier than a pig in shit over holding a girl’s hand.

 

It’s Friday now, which means it’s been almost a week since Betty kissed him. He’s had a stupid smile on his face since then and has endured some fairly significant teasing from Archie, which he supposes is justified given how much of a hard time he’s given Archie for his romantic life. He maintains that Archie is a little next-level in terms of his romantic life, but admittedly he has gotten a bit of insight into him from this week in terms of how hard Archie usually falls for his girlfriends. Jughead has seen Betty essentially every other day since Friday, but every time his cell phone buzzes he still gets an annoying flippy feeling in his chest, even if he’s just left her. 

 

He’s not quite at Archie levels, but he never has been, either. Archie loves girls, and girls love Archie. He loves dating, loves being in love, loves relationships. Jughead has never been that way; the girlfriends that he’s had have been great, but relationships have never been his focus and even when he had a girlfriend it always seemed to be a little bit like an additional responsibility. Until Betty. 

 

Not that she’s his girlfriend - they haven’t really had that discussion yet - but they’re definitely something. They’ve kissed more than a few times, though none have been particularly scandalous. Last Wednesday night, he even let her drag him for a run down by the river (verdict: although he already had a sense of this from the time he’s spent staring at her legs, this experience proved that Betty is definitely in better shape than him). And even with that, he still wants to be around her more. 

 

(He wonders if this is the feeling that directors are trying to capture when they make shitty rom-coms. If so, maybe some of them should meet Betty.)

 

Tonight he’s with her again, and just like a few weeks before, Betty hadn’t seemed to give a shit at all that it was raining. This is actually an upside for Jughead; because the weather is dreary, there are far fewer people around, and he gets to walk around town like a normal person. So far, she’s taken him past her high school and down to the south side of town, where she’d told him there used to be a drive-in. Jughead vaguely recalls something about this from her Instagram account and feels enraged all over again when she tells him about how she and a few friends had protested its shutdown at City Hall and had had eggs thrown at them. 

 

He’d kissed her at that, enamored with her passion and the fire in her eyes, and then, feeling suddenly and fiercely protective of her for the latter part of the story, he’d grabbed her hand. Betty hadn’t pulled away, and ten minutes later they’re still holding hands as they walk slowly back to his apartment. She seems sad about the drive-in still, and Jughead squeezes her hand. 

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

She squeezes back and nods, giving him a little smile. “I just miss it,” she says. “It was such a part of Riverdale history. I know this sounds stupid, but these old places mean a lot in a small town. Everybody has memories there. I was so disappointed that more people didn’t try to save it. It definitely would’ve been one of the places that I’d have taken you.”

 

Jughead glances over at her. “Yeah? I can picture that.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He nudges her shoulder with his. “Sure. One of those old trucks with the bench seat, me, you, a blanket…”

 

Betty giggles. “Hmm. What would we do with a bench seat?” she teases.

 

Jughead drops his jaw slightly in mock outrage. “Betty, I resent the implication that I would be that easy!”

 

She rolls her eyes at him and smiles. “Oh really?”

 

“No, I’m kidding. When it comes to you, I’m definitely that easy.” Jughead drops her hand so that he can wrap his arm around her shoulders instead, and takes the opportunity to press a kiss to her temple. “Especially when you’re wearing these jeans.”

 

Betty’s slim arm snakes around his waist, and even under the yellow street lights he can see her blush. “I didn’t know you were such a denim aficionado.” 

 

He laughs and stops walking, turning on his heel to suddenly stand in her way and face her. “I’m not,” he says, his hand falling to her hip. “But I  _ am  _ a really big fan of what’s in the denim.” He lets his hand skim across her ass, his jaw tensing slightly with anxiety over his own boldness. His eyes are watching her face with interest, waiting for her reaction, but he still doesn’t expect it when Betty stands stands on tip-toe and kisses him soundly.

 

After a few beats, she pulls back slightly and speaks against his lips. “You’ve got a nice butt too, Juggie.”

 

He grins, kisses her again, and pats her ass affectionately. “If you play your cards right, I’ll show it to you,” he teases.

 

Betty giggles and tucks herself under his arm again. “I bet it’s pale.”

 

“You’d bet right.” He glances down at her and takes note of her wet hair and clothes, totally soaked even with her jacket. He’s in a similar state of affairs. “We should’ve brought an umbrella.”

 

Betty shrugs. “I don’t mind. It’s kind of cleansing, don’t you think?” she observes, looking up at him with a bright smile.

 

_ God.  _ Whatever she’s got, he wants to bottle it and keep it forever. “Yeah,” Jughead agrees, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Getting sorta chilly, though. Let’s get back to my apartment and we can get dry clothes.”

 

“And  _ Star Wars?”  _ Betty asks hopefully.

 

They’ve started to go through all of the  _ Star Wars  _ movies - including the awful prequels - because while both of them have seen the films, neither has watched them in chronological order. Jughead had proposed that they attempt it, and so far it’s been going really well. Sometimes they get through an entire movie, sometimes it’s just part of one, but every time they watch one, it means that he gets to sit on a couch and cuddle with Betty. He’s had a tough week of filming - he has some intense scenes coming up, and getting to the right head space is always somewhat emotionally exhausting - and it’s been really nice to come home and spend a couple of hours with the girl he likes and a movie that doesn’t make him think too hard.

 

Right now, there's nothing else he'd rather do. “Definitely.”

 

They make their way back to his apartment building. They forgo the stairs in favour of the elevator, where Jughead wraps his arms around Betty and slips his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. He mutters inappropriate jokes into her ear and earns himself a swat on the arm, but then she slides her arms around his waist and giggles into his chest, and Jughead is pretty sure he’s in the clear.

 

The elevator dings once they get to his floor, so Jughead reluctantly lets go of Betty and leads the way into the hallway. He digs into his pocket for his keys and has them halfway to the lock when the unmistakeable sound of Veronica Lodge fills his ears.

 

“Well, well, well.”

 

_ Shit.  _ Jughead glances at Betty, whose eyes are slightly wide with surprise, and grimaces his advance apologies. He hasn’t really brought up the whole meeting-Archie-and-Veronica thing since the last time; while he and Betty are certainly closer now, he’s still not sure what her stance on that is. She had been so uncertain about it before, and given how ambivalent she still seems to be about many of the various aspects of his fame, he hasn’t pushed anything related. She’s been around a couple of times now when he’s been asked for a picture or something like that, and she has (as expected) been sweet and accommodating, but those situations are beyond his control. It’s made him want to ensure that any contact she has with the things that he  _ can  _ influence - her set visits, the presence of his castmates and crew members from the production - is completely voluntary on her part.

 

This doesn’t really sit well with that.

 

Still, he can’t exactly ignore Veronica, especially since she’s standing ten feet away with her arms folded, Archie behind her, and a delighted smile on her face. So he raises an eyebrow slightly in their direction and says, “Hey. Thought you were still in New York.”

 

“Just got in,” Veronica explains, striding toward himself and Betty, her heels clicking on the floor. “This must be the elusive Betty.” She sticks her hand out toward Betty, who now has a polite smile plastered on her face. “I’m Veronica Lodge.”

 

“Betty Cooper,” Betty says, her reply automatic and affected slightly with the lilt of forced reflex. “Pleased to meet you.” She shakes Veronica’s hand, and Jughead takes the opportunity to unlock his apartment door.

 

Archie has appeared behind Veronica, smiling broadly in the friendly way that Jughead has always known him to. “I’m Archie!”

 

“She knows, dude.” Jughead grabs Betty’s hand. “This was awesome and all, but we actually have pl--”

 

“So, we  _ love  _ Riverdale,” Veronica says, breezing past Jughead into his apartment. “It is so pretty up here.” 

 

Jughead glares at Archie, who gives him an apologetic shrug and dutifully follows Veronica in, leaving Jughead gaping after them. “I’m sorry,” he mutters to Betty, who just shakes her head politely and tightens her grip on his hand. He tugs her into his apartment and shuts the door, then sheds his jacket and takes Betty’s from her.

 

“I’m glad you’re liking it around here,” Betty says to Veronica. “Riverdale is a great little town.” She looks up at Jughead and clutches her upper arms with her hands. “Juggie, do you have a sweater I can borrow?”

 

_ Right, fuck.  _ They’re both soaking wet, and he has the goddamned air conditioning pre-set. He’s kinda cold, and given how hot he usually runs, that means she must be freezing. 

 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, shaking his head slightly at himself. “I’ll grab you something.” 

 

Jughead darts down the hall to his bedroom and pulls out an old pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt from his dresser. He changes into dry clothes as well before heading back out and handing the sweats and shirt to Betty, who is standing with Veronica and looking both excited and overwhelmed.

 

“Try these, babe,” he says, ignoring the look of glee that Archie is giving him. “If they’re too big, there are shorts in the middle drawer that might fit better.”  

 

“Okay.” Betty smiles at him, takes the clothes, and pecks his cheek before padding quietly down the hall. There’s a faint  _ click  _ as she shuts the door, and only then does Jughead turn to Veronica with raised eyebrows.

 

“Let it out, Ron,” he says.

 

Veronica grins. “Jughead, you are adorable. There are literally stars in your eyes when you look at her. Plus -  _ ‘babe’?  _ Come on!”

 

“Do we need to have another discussion about the word ‘literally’?”

 

That earns him a glare, and he shrugs sheepishly in response. Veronica flips her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. It’s obvious that you like her, is what I mean.”

 

“Ronnie’s right,” Archie supplies unhelpfully, draping an arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “I’m happy for you, dude. Things going good?”

 

Jughead glances down toward his bedroom. It’s weird talking about Betty, especially since she’s right in the other room. “They’d be going better if we hadn’t run into you guys.”

 

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Oh whatever. I don’t bite. Hard,” she adds, winking at Archie. Jughead makes a face and has the vague feeling of wanting to throw up. “Just kidding, Jug. Lighten up.” Her eyes brighten again, and Jughead turns to see that Betty has appeared around the corner, dressed in the clothes he’d brought her. 

 

An unfamiliar flash of masculine pride twitches inside Jughead at the sight of her in his clothes. He’s overcome with the sudden urge to grab her and say,  _ “Mine,”  _ and show her to everyone so that the world knows that she’s his and he is hers. He swallows the feeling, because she is of course  _ not  _ his. Not in any sense.

 

“Betty! Come sit,” Veronica says, sinking onto the edge of the sofa and patting the spot beside her. “Jug’s been keeping you hidden from us. Archie and I have been dying to meet you.”

 

Betty looks slightly nervous as she sits next to Veronica, but she still smiles politely and says, “Well, here I am!” She folds her hands on her lap and looks at her fingers for a moment before adding, “So you guys, um, have you guys been out and around the town much?”

 

“Actually, yeah,” Archie answers, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Ronnie and I went to go see a movie at the Bijou Theatre just last week.”

 

“Oh, the Bijou is a nice place. A friend of my mother’s actually owns it,” Betty says, nodding briefly.

 

“It has good popcorn,” Archie informs her matter-of-factly. “Excellent butter to kernel ratio.”

 

Betty smiles at him. “I’ll pass along the message.”

 

Veronica clears her throat quietly and then beams when everyone glances in her direction. “So, Betty,” she begins, nodding her head toward Jughead. “I do have to ask you this, as a matter of protection, because with Jughead being himself and all that, you can imagine that these things aren’t always so cut and dried.” 

 

Betty’s eyes grow wide. They dart to Jughead for a second, who tries desperately to give her a look that reads ‘ignore Veronica completely, forever’, and then back to Veronica. “I promise I don’t have any interest in taking adv--”

 

“He’s a  _ huge  _ nerd,” Veronica interrupts, dismissing Betty’s words with a quick flick of her fingertips. She briefly glances at Jughead, who can see the teasing glint in her eye, and then looks back at Betty. “Like, a giant nerd. And I think sometimes people meet him and think they can change him, but the pocket protector life is forever, you know?”

 

“Sure,” Betty says, but it’s clear that she has no idea what Veronica is talking about. Jughead bites his lip.

 

“So you still want to?”

 

Betty looks at Jughead, who shrugs, and then back at Veronica. “I still want to what?” she asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“You still want to date him,” Veronica clarifies. “I mean, right now is probably as cool as he’ll ever get--”

 

“Not true, Jughead has never been cool,” Archie jokes, grinning. Jughead punches him in the shoulder.

 

Veronica gives Archie a look, complete with raised eyebrow, for interrupting her, then turns to Betty and continues. “You seem awesome. And let’s be honest, Jughead is … well, his book collection is  _ alphabetized.”  _

 

Jughead snorts at that. He winks at Betty, who blushes slightly and then tells Veronica very seriously, “That’s certainly a heavy cross, but he’s also really cute so it’s mine to bear now, I suppose.”

 

A smile spreads slowly across Veronica’s face, and by the time she looks up at Jughead it’s turned into a full grin. “I like her, Juggie. Don’t fuck it up.”

 

“I’ll try not to, thanks Ron,” he says dryly, folding his arms. “Now if you guys are done--”

 

“Just making sure that she’s making an informed decision,” Veronica says. “Us girls have to stick together. Right, B?”

 

Betty looks uncertain again, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips this time. “Right,” she echoes. Her eyes twinkle at Jughead, who can’t help but smile back at her.

 

Veronica stands up from the couch. “Alright, alright, don’t get your beanie in a knot. We’re going.” She brushes imaginary dust off her skirt and adds, “Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the elusive Betty.”

 

Archie nods in agreement and slides an arm around Veronica’s waist as she nears him. “It was nice to meet the girl that made Jug nervous about a date.”

 

Betty looks up at Jughead curiously. He can feel his cheeks burning as he shoots a glare at Archie. “You’re going to ruin my cool-guy vibe,” he says, sitting down beside Betty.

 

She leans toward him as his arm comes around her and then puts a hand on his leg. “I thought we just established that you don’t have one of those?” she says, wrinkling her nose in faux-confusion.

 

That earns her laughter from Archie and Veronica and a teasing squeeze of her shoulder from Jughead. “You’re lucky I like you,” he says to her, then gives a brief wave at his friends as they head toward the door.

 

“Let’s do this again soon!” Veronica chirps. “Bye, lovebirds.” She wiggles her fingers at them, then grabs Archie’s hand and pulls him out of the apartment.

 

As soon as the door is shut, Jughead drops his arms to Betty’s waist and hauls her sideways into his lap. She giggles and sets her hands on his forearms, then leans back until she hits the arm of of the couch. He’s fairly slender, but his clothes are still baggy on her, and Jughead is hit with that selfish, caveman-esque feeling all over again.  _ Mine.  _

 

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, dropping his eyes to an inch of skin that’s been exposed at her waist.

 

When he lifts his gaze again, he sees that Betty is biting her lower lip. “I like wearing them,” she says, then she kisses him.

 

He kisses her back and deepens it almost immediately, making absolutely no effort to restrain himself. One of his hands is on the back of her neck, pulling her face impossibly closer to his. The other hand tightly grips her hip to start but soon slips down to hold the outside of her thigh; he squeezes gently when she makes a small, breathy noise, then reluctantly breaks the kiss for air.

 

Jughead stares at her eyes silently for a long moment. Then he abruptly asks, “Can you take your hair out of the ponytail?”

 

Betty smiles and reaches up to tug the elastic out of her hair. She shakes her hair loose and runs a hand through the tangles, made worse by the rain. “The ponytail is convenient,” she says shyly.

 

“I like it,” he assures her, reaching up to run his fingers through the knots. “I like it down, too.” He smiles at her, taking note of the flushed pink on her cheeks, then adds, “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

She ducks her head, smiling, then says, “Juggie?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I have a favour to ask you.”

 

Jughead sits up a little, at the ready. Since he’s met Betty, she hasn’t asked him for a single thing - purposely so, it seems, despite him not asking her to do that. She’s been so good to him, so welcoming and respectful, and whatever she needs now, he’s more than willing to give her. “Yeah babe, anything.” 

 

She stares at her hands intensely, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. After a few minutes’ silence, she says, “I finally told my parents about you. Not that I was trying not to - it’s just, they’re overprotective. Especially with everything lately.”

 

Jughead watches her expression carefully and rubs his thumb across her knee. “And I’m sure you seeing an actor is probably not on their list of things for their daughter to do,” he finishes, understanding dawning on him. A sinking feeling begins to form in the pit of his stomach. “Betty-”

 

She covers his hand with hers and squeezes it. “Probably, but I told them about  _ you,”  _ she interrupts, still biting the corner of her lip. “I said that you were down-to-earth and nice and … I told them how you make me feel.”

 

Jughead searches her face for answers. “How’s that?” he asks softly.

 

He swears he sees the briefest glimpse of tears in her eyes, but then she blinks rapidly and it’s gone. She swallows, takes a slow breath, and releases her lip from her teeth. “Calm,” she answers. Her voice is quiet, but it suddenly seems deafening in the still air of his apartment. “Calm and … safe.”

 

His chest lightens at her words, and an invisible weight seems to shift on his back. “I never want you to feel any other way around me,” he says honestly.

 

“I know.” Betty smiles. “But um, she wants - will you meet my parents?”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Meeting the parents.

 

It’s early, he knows. Betty had also acknowledged that, especially since they haven’t actually had a conversation about who or what they are to each other. But Betty has had a tough year. She’s been brave enough to share as much with Jughead. Her parents aren’t exactly stopping her from seeing him - she was just here, after all, cuddling on his couch - but he has the feeling that she’s not the kind of girl who wants to hide large parts of her life from the people she loves. If Betty wants him to meet them, Jughead will of course do it. And if him spending time with them will help her parents feel at ease with their daughter seeing him, perhaps Betty will be more comfortable as well. 

 

So he’d agreed immediately, of course. Jughead is not the kind of person that is intimidated by the cinematic concept of ‘meeting the parents’ - he’s a decent guy, he tries to do the right thing, and even though he knows he can be rough around the edges, at least he’s honest. Plus, he grew up with an absentee mother and an alcoholic father whose parenting and attention always left a little to be desired. At an early age, he’d been divested of the idea that adults  _ really  _ knew anything about anything. Respect quickly became a function of a person’s goodness and inherent value and not merely a function of their age or of the fact that they’d had unprotected sex at some point in their lives and accidentally procreated.

 

That said, Jughead has never had to meet a girlfriend’s parents before. Things are different in LA - everyone is independent fairly early, and even if they’re minors, they seem to have more agency than people in middle America. Plus, none of his relationships ever progressed to a parents-meeting stage. But Betty is different, somehow; he finds himself thinking about the impending interaction and hoping to god that her parents like him. 

 

For the first time ever, he’s worried about what someone thinks of him.

 

It’s fucking  _ weird.  _

 

Plus, this is happening  _ tomorrow.  _ When Betty had sprung the whole my-parents-want-to-meet-you concept on him, she’d also made the suggestion of his attendance at Saturday family dinner.  _ Saturday.  _ As in, tomorrow.

 

Or today, really, because Jughead has been laying awake and thinking about this for at least an hour, and now it’s 1:30am. She’d asked if he was available - her mother’s proposal, not hers, she’d said - and he’d agreed, saying that he was okay with it. Which theoretically, yeah, he is. Yet somehow, it becomes more real with every minute that passes, and now he’s fucking nervous. On the upside, Betty had also had an idea for something that they could do together during the day that he’s very much looking forward to - hiking and lunch at one of the relatively-nearby state parks - so at least if it goes terribly, he’ll have that memory to cling to.

 

He’s supposed to pick her up at 7:30 in the morning so that they can get a head start, but he’s laying here awake anyway and decides to text her just to see if he’s not the only one up.  **_Is it weird that I’m nervous about meeting your parents?_ ** he asks.

 

Betty responds within a few minutes, which leads him to believe that he hasn’t woken her up.  **_I was nervous to meet your friends! So no I don’t think so :) But you don’t need to be, they’re going to love you._ **

 

Jughead lets out a sigh.  **_I hope you’re right,_ ** he says, then tells her,  **_Try and get some sleep, babe, we’ve got a big day tomorrow!_ **

 

**_You too, Juggie,_ ** Betty’s reply reads, followed by the heart emoji. 

 

Jughead stares at the little red heart for three seconds past what he’s sure is acceptable and then opens a text to Archie. He exhales loudly through his mouth, unable to believe he’s about to ask him for advice.  **_Dude, I’m meeting Betty’s parents tomorrow. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much should I panic?_ **

 

He sets his cell phone down and stares at the ceiling for a short while until it buzzes with his friend’s response.  **_Ronnie says 6. I say 10._ **

 

**_I like my odds with Ronnie’s answer better,_ ** Jughead says, rolling his eyes at his phone. He should know better by now than to expect something helpful from Archie.

 

Oddly, he ends up getting a bit more reassurance from Veronica, who sends him a message almost immediately after Archie’s.  **_Meeting the parents is all about them making sure that their kid isn’t going out with a delinquent murderer. The upside to dating a famous person is that if you end up being a murderer, you’d be really easy to find on a manhunt._ **

 

Jughead raises his eyebrow, not sure where Veronica is going with this. He’s not a murderer, last he checked, but he thinks he might understand a little of the analogy. He has a reputation to protect, therefore he’ll treat Betty well. It’s not the reason, of course - he likes Betty and wants her to like him, too, plus human decency is sort of a basic thing - but if that’s the only thing that sets her parents at ease, well - so be it. 

 

He tells her,  **_Somehow I’m not comforted much by that, Ron._ **

 

**_I’ll let you know the real secret to meeting the parents if you give me Betty’s phone number,_ ** Veronica bargains.  **_She seems cool and I want friends too!_ **

 

Jughead snorts. If he was dating Archie, he’d need a bit of an escape too, no matter how much he loves his best friend. He fires off a quick,  **_I’ll check with Betty,_ ** then puts his phone on silent and buries his face in the pillow, hoping that tomorrow goes well.    
  


  
  


.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of the love that this has gotten. Please leave some more comments! :)


	8. eight

_You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,_  
_like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,_  
_like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean  
_ _You fill up my senses, come fill me again_

  * John Denver



  
  


Betty threads a section of her hair between her fingers and crosses it over another part, then wraps a third section around the second. She repeats the process over and over until she reaches her ends, then ties on a thin elastic and checks the braid in the mirror. It’s a bit looser than the hairstyle that Betty usually wears, and she considers taking it out in favour of her usual ponytail. She bites her lip and takes a step back, examining her reflection.

 

Khaki hiking shorts, white tank top, plaid shirt with different hues of blue, grey socks. And now, a loose blonde braid. Her cell phone holds a text message from Jughead from an hour earlier that reads **_good morning, beautiful,_ ** but as she’s standing here right now, Betty can’t grasp where he could be getting that from. She’s so … plain, so unremarkable and average. Clearly, something is wrong with him.

 

_She doesn’t deserve him._

 

It’s a comment that had been made by an instagram fan account of Jughead’s. It was left on a photo of the two of them clearly taken by a fan who’d spotted them the previous night, when they’d been walking in the rain and holding hands. For as much as Betty is trying to ignore all of the pressure, she can’t help but think that this particular account has a point. She _doesn’t_ deserve him. He’s been so wonderful, and she’s repaid him with insecurities and impending forced parental interaction.

 

That’s definitely where this is going to end, Betty’s pretty sure. She’d avoided the whole ‘hey-I’m-kinda-dating-this-guy’ conversation with her parents for as long as she felt was acceptable, having had an inkling what her mother was going to say when she did inevitably confess. Ultimately, Betty didn’t feel comfortable lying to her parents, especially when they’ve been supportive (in their own particular way) of her throughout this last, hellish year. So she’d casually brought it up the prior evening, just before she’d gone to meet Jughead for a walk and a movie at his apartment, and as expected, Alice Cooper had demanded that she bring him over for dinner to ensure that he was acceptable.

 

Jughead had agreed to come, but Betty still feels bad about forcing this on him.

 

She’s going to try to make up for it a little today. It’s just shy of 7:30 in the morning, but Betty is already up and ready to go, because she and Jughead are going to spend the day in one of the nearby state parks and she wants to get a jump on traffic. Betty really wants to do one of the trails in particular - it has cliffs and waterfalls and underground streams, so as long as he’s up for it, it should be at least be a nice day before everything goes to shit with her parents. Betty’s packed a lunch and a few snacks for them and is just awaiting a text from him that says that he’s leaving his building; it comes a minute later _(_ **_just leaving, babe_ ** _),_ and then she heads down to wait on her front step.

 

As she waits, Betty sits with the her backpack and cooler of food at her feet and stares at the scars on her palms. Kevin had sent her the instagram post from Jughead’s fansite late the night before, demanding to know further details since their closeness is obvious in the photos, but it had had a backfiring effect of making Betty incredibly anxious. She doesn’t know how Jughead does this all the time; the very idea of somebody taking photos of her while she’s unaware feels tremendously violating. She’d texted Jughead a little before bed, put on a brave face about meeting her parents, and then had laid awake with all of her anxieties running through her head.

 

_This_ had not helped.

 

Betty had woken up with a little dried blood on her hands, wanting nothing more than to see him. The idea of him can terrify her if she thinks about it long enough, but his actual presence brings her calmness and warmth, and she wants it desperately this morning.

 

His car pulls up after a few minutes, and Jughead hops out to grab the cooler that she carries to the end of the driveway. Betty knows that her mom is probably watching out the window, but she’s so happy to see him that she doesn’t care about proper behaviour. As soon as he’s near enough, she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder to breathe his scent in.

 

“Hey babe,” Jughead says gently, his arms coming around her. “You look like an expert outdoorsman, very instagram-worthy.” His lips press to her hair. “I stopped at Pop’s on the way, so I have coffee and breakfast sandwiches for the drive, if you - hey, Betts, you okay?”

 

Betty takes a slow breath in against his flannel, then nods. “I’m good. Just had a rough night,” she says quietly, loosening her grip on him and sliding her arms down until he can see her palms. If this is all going to blow up in her face anyway, she might as well be honest. “I’m really glad to see you.”

 

Jughead’s eyes flick to her hands. He frowns a little at the new ridges there. Then, holding her waist with one hand and her face with the other, he tugs her toward him until he can kiss her. Betty kisses him back, gently but firmly, and by the time she pulls back the oppressive flutters in her chest are already dissipating.

 

“Was it because of that picture?” he asks her, one hand wrapped protectively around the back of her neck.

 

Betty casts her eyes down shyly, and she nods her confirmation. “Yes.” She swallows. “I’m working on it not bothering me. It’s a process.”

 

Jughead closes his eyes, gives a heavy sigh, and touches his forehead to Betty’s. “I’m so sorry, Betty. I want to be that calming person you talked about yesterday, but everything else is--”

 

“It’s white noise,” Betty interrupts, tugging on one of his belt loops. This isn’t his to be guilty over. She will not let that happen. “You _are_ that person, Juggie. I feel so much better already, just seeing you right now. I will ignore the noise - it’s just gonna take me a little to get used to.”

 

“I’m still sorry,” he says. “If you set the location on my phone, you can nap the way there, if that’ll help.”

 

Betty smiles. “I’ll take you up on that.” She puts a hand on his abdomen as she steps back, then lets him open her door for her.

 

Just before she climbs in, Jughead places a hand on her waist, squeezes it gently, and then presses his lips to her temple. “I have a feeling there’s somebody watching from the window, so I’ll save most of my, uh, appreciation for this later, but those shorts are really working for you,” he says into her ear.

 

She giggles, feeling even more of the weight lift off her shoulders. “You’re cute. Now c’mon, let’s hit the road before traffic gets crazy.”

  
  
  


An hour later, all Betty can think is how lucky Jughead is that he _is_ so cute, because he’s gotten them fucking lost.

 

_Lost._ While (apparently incorrectly) following GPS directions. She’d woken up (after having eaten her breakfast sandwich and then taken him up on his offer to let her sleep a bit more) to find him pulled over on the side of the road, studying his cell phone with a puzzled expression on his face. It had taken Betty two seconds to realize that the roadside out her window was not the one that led to John Boyd Thacher.

 

Her irritation at the lost time this would inevitably take is apparently evident on her face, because Jughead glances up and looks at her sheepishly. “I got lost.”

 

Betty sighs, takes her cell phone out, and begins to give him very specific directions to get back on the highway. “Turn around and go right down that grid road,” she instructs, shaking her head. “How did this even happen?”

 

“I don’t know! The GPS was working and then I figured I could get the rest of the way there without it, because it was just one more turn, but I think I turned too early and before I knew it I was down here.”

 

“What do you think _Sweetwater_ would do if I killed you out here?”

 

Jughead looks over, tilts his head, and sticks out his lower lip. “Aww, you couldn’t hurt me. Look at this face!” he says, gesturing to himself.

 

Betty fixes him with a blank stare. “I’m looking at it.” She raises an eyebrow, then a giggle spills over and she quickly pecks his lips. “We’re not that far away,” she assures him. “Luckily for you, we left pretty early and there’s still lots of time for everything I have planned.”

 

Jughead takes a right turn at Betty’s instruction, then nods in slow understanding. “Just how much stuff do you have planned, exactly?”

 

“A few hikes, lunch, then I wanna show you one of my favourite spots,” Betty answers. “Why? Was there something in particular you wanted to do?”

 

Jughead shrugs, then smiles innocently at her. “Just wondering if you’ve scheduled any time to make out in the back of my car.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes with a smile, then notices some signage for the park ahead. She points it out to Jughead, who slows to turn, and then lightly says, “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

  


* * *

 

 

Five hours later, Betty is leading Jughead toward the end of their third trail. She can see the trailhead about a hundred feet ahead, and although Betty usually thinks that the end of a good hike is a little sad, she’s starting to get a little hungry. Jughead is behind her, his hands clutching the backpack over his shoulders and a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He’s been mildly complaining for the final three kilometres of this hike, first bemoaning that the granola bars she’d packed for their hike didn’t have any chocolate coating and then claiming that he was about to waste away if they didn’t get to their lunch soon.

 

“We’re almost there, Juggie,” Betty calls behind her. She stops and waits for him, giggling when he pretends to fall on her in exhaustion.

 

“Betty, I’m _hungry,”_ he whines, leaning heavily behind her with his forearms on her shoulders.

 

“Aww,” she coos. “You need to get your endurance up!”

 

“But then I wouldn’t have a good reason to walk behind you,” Jughead teases, slipping one of his arms off her shoulder. “And if I’m going to suffer through all of this inconsistent elevation, I at least want to have this to look at.” He slides his hand onto her ass and squeezes.

 

Betty giggles, fully aware of the stupid smile on her face. “Lunch is like, fifteen minutes away, I promise,” she informs him, turning around and knocking her hip playfully against his.

 

“What if I die before then?” he asks, making a sad face. “What did you make?”

 

She grabs his hand as they start forward again. “Pressed italian sandwiches. Bottoncini, deli meat, red peppers and arugula on ciabatta.”

 

Jughead moans. “Oh, baby. Talk dirty to me.”

 

“There’s a little balsamic, too--”

 

“Don’t stop, Betty.”

 

She giggles and elbows him, then picks up her pace and drags him along. They reach the trailhead a minute later later, then take a selfie to celebrate. It sits on her phone along with photos they’d taken at the end of two previous hikes, a photo of the two of them taken at the top of a cliff with the incredible view laid out behind them, and several photos of the scenery that she’d snapped.

 

Jughead’s photography for the day had been more geared toward embarrassing photos of her taken while she was tying the laces on her hiking shoes, more embarrassing photos of her posing in one of the caves, and a few shots of the scenery. She’d taken one of him on his phone for his instagram story, which he’d posted along with a specific reference to her as ‘babe’. Betty is sure that she’ll dwell on it far too much later, but for right now it sends a giddy feeling straight to her heart.

 

Jughead unlocks the doors to his jeep, climbs into the driver’s seat, and collapses dramatically. “I can’t possibly move another inch without sustenance,” he says.

 

Betty rolls her eyes but digs in her purse for a mint, then pops it into his mouth. “Does that buy me a half-mile’s worth of driving?”

 

“Mmm, yeah. But only ‘cause you’re pretty.”

 

She shakes her head at him, smiling, and gives him directions to her favourite place in the park. It’s not exactly what she would call a meadow, but it’s a small area flat enough to have some grass, and it’s beside a stream. Around mid-afternoon, the light peeks through the trees just so, making the surroundings look and feel warm in a way that can brighten her spirit even on the dark days.

 

They arrive at a parking lot two minutes later. Jughead grabs the cooler in one hand and a blanket in the other, and Betty leads him around the backside of some boulders to the spot she had in mind. She takes the blanket from him, spreads it out, and then waves her arms around.

 

“Voila!” she says. “Time to eat.”

 

Jughead glances around as he sets the cooler onto the grass next to the blanket. “This is really nice.” He sits down and drums his hands on his legs. “Okay, let’s see these sandwiches!”

 

Betty chuckles and sits down across from him. She opens the cooler and pulls out two wrapped sandwiches, a few fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, a container of fruit salad, and two Cokes. She hands him the can of soda with an apologetic expression, and tells him, “I know the romantic thing is to bring a bottle of wine, but I’m not twenty-one.”

 

Jughead accepts it and dismisses her implied apology with a curt shake of his head. Then he raises his eyebrow at her. “Romantic, huh? You trying to seduce me, Cooper?”

 

She shrugs and unwraps her sandwich, looking at him innocently. “Maybe.”

 

“Believe me, Betts, you won’t have to try very hard.” He winks at her. “I’m not exactly going to put up a fight.”

 

She blushes a little, then succumbs to her hunger and starts eating her sandwich. The ice packs in the cooler kept both the sandwiches and the fruit salad decently cool considering the heat of the day. Here in the semi-shade, Betty sheds her plaid shirt and lets the gentle breeze cross over the skin of her shoulders and neck. Jughead has done the same, and she finds herself sneaking glances at the lean tone of his arms and chest that are exposed in his undershirt.

 

Betty eats her sandwich, her share of the fruit salad, and half a cookie, then is too full to continue. Jughead seems glad to clean up the rest, wolfing it down with impressive speed. When he’s done, he collects the garbage and containers and piles it back in the cooler, then shifts over toward Betty on the blanket and kisses her.

 

It starts slow, as seems to be typical with them, but before long she’s lowering herself down onto her back and tugging him with her. Jughead hovers over her, half-propped on his side, one knee pressed against hers. One of his hands runs down her side, stops to squeeze her hip, then moves down her thigh. He grips it and pulls her leg up to hitch her foot around the back of his knee.

 

Betty gulps in air when Jughead drags his lips from her mouth to her neck. He can’t seem to quit touching her legs, and when Betty rolls him onto his back, he immediately takes the opportunity to run both of his hands up her thighs to her ass. She attributes Jughead’s apparent favouritism to her stress-relieving runs by the river and her generally healthy diet, and for the first time in her life, Betty sends mental thanks to her mother’s neuroses around eating habits.

 

His touch is like a warm fireplace - not burning, but soothing and comforting in its heat - and Betty can’t get enough. She fights an unfamiliar urge to buck against him, choosing instead to raise herself up a little to get a short break. As much as she wants to continue, they’re in the middle of a state park; god only knows who could potentially see them like this (or worse, take a photo).

 

Jughead seems to catch on, because he moves his hands to her waist and then ultimately off her altogether. She smiles at him, breathing slightly more heavily than normal, then flops onto the blanket and cuddles up into his side.

 

“I like this,” Betty says into his undershirt, her eyes half-closed. “When we’re out here it’s just me and you.”

 

“Mhm.” Jughead has tugged the elastic off the end of her braid and begun to unravel it. “I always thought it would be great to travel around the country through the state and national park systems. Get a beat-up motorhome and just go.”

 

“That sounds so incredible,” Betty sighs. “Your filming schedule would never allow it, I imagine.”

 

“Probably not. Once _Sweetwater_ is done filming I’ve got another movie booked in Montreal, but at least that shoot is only a month.”

 

His words hit her in her stomach, and suddenly Betty is feeling a lot less at ease. It’s just another reminder that this - whatever _it_ is - has an end date. He’s not here forever, and neither is she.

 

Jughead’s hand slows in her hair. “We should probably get going before I fall asleep here and we miss dinner with your parents. That’s a hell of an impression for me to make.”

 

“Yeah.” Betty tries to let herself have another minute with the fresh air and partial sunlight blanketing them, but it doesn’t really help, and she sits up. “Especially if you get us lost going back.”

 

“That was one time, Betty!”

 

“It was _today.”_

 

“Yeah, point taken.” Jughead sits up and pecks her lips. “Thanks for packing lunch, babe.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She watches him stand up, then takes his hand and lets him haul her to her feet. She takes the now-lighter cooler, he folds the blanket, and they head back toward the car and real life.

  


* * *

  


Upon returning to Riverdale, they part so that both can clean up and change. Betty fields a few texts from Kevin - **_the day was good, hope your date with Moose went well too!_ ** \- then strips off her hiking clothes and has a quick shower. When she returns to her bedroom, towel still wrapped around her, she finds Polly sitting on her bed with a wide, knowing smile on her face.

 

“Mom tells me we get to meet your boy today.”

 

Betty presses her lips together and walks over to her closet. “Yep. He’s coming over in about half an hour. But he’s not _mine,”_ she reminds her sister.

 

Polly shifts back on Betty’s bed until she’s leaning against the headboard. “He’s voluntarily going to have dinner with Mom and Dad,” she points out. “If he’s not yours yet, seems like he definitely wants to be.”

 

Betty shrugs, hoping her nonchalance will mask the confusion that is rising in her chest. They’d had such a perfect, wonderful day together - even getting lost had been sort of funny, in retrospect - but it had been capped off with the reminder that he’s only here for a few months and would be leaving again to Montreal or Los Angeles or wherever his career leads. It’s just a fact: Jughead would not be living in Riverdale forever, and hell, neither would she. She’s going to go to New York and become a successful journalist, marry someone who’s perfectly alright and then tell her grandkids about how once, years ago, she went on a few dates with a famous actor.

 

Betty’s hoping that the more she runs this scenario through her head, the more acceptable it’ll become, and when he inevitably leaves it’ll be that much easier.

 

But right now, she’s not there yet. Right now, it still fucking sucks to think about. She doesn’t want to not see him while he _is_ here, but there does seem to be something inherently futile about him meeting her parents when it’s not like this can really go anywhere.

 

“He’s only coming so that I don’t have to lie to Mom and Dad when I go to hang out with him,” Betty informs Polly as she pulls a casual blue dress on. “He’s not … it’s not anything.”

 

“Does he know that?” Polly asks gently. “Betty, he spent all of last night and all of today with you. I know he’s come to the retirement home too. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want something more with you.”

 

Betty sits at her vanity and begins to straighten her hair. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. “I really like him, Pol. A lot. He’s not at all what you would expect. But he’s only here until January, then they’re done, and next fall I’ll be gone to school, so…”

 

“So what? So you have to do some long-distance?” Polly gets off the bed and comes to stand behind Betty. She takes the flatiron from her and begins to do the back of her head for her. “I mean, yeah that sucks, but you’ll deal with it with strength and grace like you always do. Plus you never know what could happen in the future. This is only a problem because you’re making it one, Betty.”

 

Betty stares at herself in the mirror. “Maybe.”

 

Polly shifts her feet slightly to get to a different section of Betty’s hair. “All I’m saying is, give it - and him - a chance. You always look so happy when you talk about him. Even if it doesn’t work out, love is always worth the risk, Betty.”

 

“That’s not realistic,” she says quietly. “Not with my stupid, broken brain.”

 

“Hey,” Polly says sharply. “Quit that. You’ve been through a lot already. I know you’re trying to avoid heartbreak, but jesus, Betty, if you avoid everything that might be sad eventually then you’re just going to be left with the things that are for _sure_ sad right now.” She taps her fingernail against the top of Betty’s head. “Quit overthinking up here.”

 

Betty catches Polly’s eye in the mirror and smiles a little. “I’ll try,” she promises. “Thanks, Pol.”

 

“I just want you to be happy, Betty.” Polly finishes straightening the last side of Betty’s hair, then unplugs the flatiron and admires her handiwork. “Perfection.” She beams. “Let’s get you downstairs before he gets here and has to spend an unattended moment alone with Mom and Dad.”

 

Betty pretends to shudder. “The stuff of nightmares,” she agrees, then stands from her chair and follows her sister downstairs.

  


Jughead arrives at seven o’clock sharp, wearing clean jeans, a black button-down shirt that looks suspiciously new, and carrying two bouquets of flowers. Betty opens the door with a nervous smile, but it quickly turns to a questioning look at the abundance of flora in his arms.

 

“One is for your parents,” he says. “The other one is for you.”

 

She sighs a little at his thoughtfulness; he’s already trying hard for her, which only serves to bolster the points her sister had been making about his intentions only minutes earlier. “You’re so sweet,” Betty says, taking both. She hears footsteps behind her and forgoes a kiss in favour of taking a step back, then takes a deep breath in and turns to look at her mother.

 

Alice Cooper is standing straight-backed with Betty’s father slightly behind her, ready to take his cues from his wife as always. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled, her skirt and top perfectly pressed, and her smile perfectly set. “You must be Jughead,” she says, her voice full of sugar and honey. “Please come in.”

 

Jughead takes a step into the foyer and puts his hand out. “I am, ma’am. Jughead Jones. Pleased to meet both of you.”

 

Betty watches her parents shake Jughead’s hand. “Mom, Jughead brought flowers,” she says, showing her mother the larger of the two bouquets. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

 

Alice appraises the bouquet, taking it from Betty, and then smiles at Jughead. “They are,” she confirms. “Thank you, Jughead, these will look nice on the table.” She hands them to Hal. “Put these in water, Hal, will you? And Betty’s, too.”

 

“Yes, dear,” Hal says. He gives Jughead a half-grin as though they’re sharing some kind of inside joke, then obediently takes both bouquets to the kitchen.

 

Jughead glances at Betty. His jaw is twitching nervously but he’s smiling and manages to give her a sideways wink. “Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Cooper,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Alice raises her eyebrow at him slightly, then gestures for he and Betty to follow her into the living room, where Polly is sitting on the couch. “I’m sure it’s peanuts compared to Los Angeles,” she says. “Jughead, this is our eldest daughter, Polly. Polly, this is Betty’s new _friend,_ Jughead.”

 

Polly stands up and shakes Jughead’s hand. She grins. “Nice to meet you,” she says, then once Alice has turned away slightly, she quietly adds, “Don’t worry, she can’t actually hurt you. Betty is friends with the sheriff’s son, it would be a big social no-no.”

 

Jughead chuckles. “Good to know,” he says, sitting down on the loveseat. Betty sits beside him; she’s anxiously been chewing on her lower lip, but when he grabs her hand and laces their fingers together, she releases her lip and gives him a nervous smile. He squeezes her hand reassuringly in response.

 

“So, Jughead,” Alice says, clasping her hands together. “Can I get you a drink?”

 

“Uh, sure, ma’am, water would be great,” he answers.

 

Alice tilts her head. “We also have liquor, if you’d like. You are older than my daughter, correct? You’ll have to forgive me for having done a little advance research.”

 

_Oh god._ Betty wants to throw up.

 

“I am,” Jughead confirms. “I’m twenty-one. But I don’t really drink. Water is totally fine.”

 

Hal, who’s already halfway to Jughead with a cold glass of water, flashes a disbelieving smile. “That definitely wouldn’t have been my response when I was twenty-one,” he jokes. “Right, Alice?”

 

“Yes dear, you were quite the life of the party,” Alice says with the briefest of eyerolls.

 

Jughead takes a sip of water and then sets it on one of the coasters lined up neatly on the coffee table. “Well, if you’ve done research, you’ll probably know that addiction is prevalent in my family. I try to tread carefully.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alice says smoothly, sounding not very sorry at all. “I hadn’t read that. Your father or your mother?”

 

Betty tightens her grip on Jughead’s hand and sits up straighter. “Mom, that’s none of your business,” she interjects, frowning deeply. She hadn’t asked Jughead over to have her parents grill him about his family life, which he hasn’t even spoken much about with her.

 

“It’s okay, Betty,” Jughead murmurs. “It’s nothing that the world can’t read about.” More loudly, he replies, “My father, ma’am. He’s struggled with alcohol for most of my life, and my mother has had her share of difficulties as well. I became an actor to help them out financially.”

 

“That’s very admirable of you, Jughead,” Alice says, her expression softening.

 

“I have a little sister. She needed to eat,” Jughead informs her bluntly. His body seems to be full of tension, even though his voice is fairly controlled; Betty rubs her thumb over his in an effort to dissipate it. She’s heard some of the story before, and of course has read about him just like every other girl in America, but it feels entirely different to hear him speak in person about it compared with reading it on Wikipedia.

 

“Mom, when’s dinner?” Polly interrupts, glancing quickly at Betty.

 

“Right away, dear. Come, help me bring the dishes to the table, will you Polly?”

 

Betty mouths _thank you_ at her sister as she rises and passes them, then sighs silently and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Juggie. She’s … they’re … I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jughead assures her. “It’s weird to talk about. But it’s not a secret.” He kisses her temple. “They’re just being protective. I understand.”

 

She exhales her relief, then turns toward him and offers a smile. “Dinner will take half an hour, tops. Then you can go. I promise.”

 

She can’t keep the promise. They end up spending forty-five minutes eating, because the actual intake of food is constantly interrupted by her mother’s questions about the film, life in Los Angeles, and his impressions of Riverdale, among other things. Then as soon as dinner is done, just as Betty is standing to help clear the plates, her father asks Jughead to come outside with him and help him clean the gutters of leaves from a recent windstorm. It’s absolutely mortifying; for as much as he might have expected some personal questions with a dinner invitation, Betty’s sure that he definitely didn’t anticipate needing to do fucking _chores_ for them.

  
All the same, he’d nodded his agreement, and out he and her father went.

 

“Daddy’s just purposely giving him a hard time,” Polly assures her. “It’s fine.”

 

Her sister ends up being right; when Jughead comes back in afterward, her father is laughing and joking with him. Jughead gives Betty a reassuring smile, then offers warm thanks to her parents for having him over. He’s invited back “anytime”, and two minutes after he leaves, Alice Cooper says she likes him.

  
  


.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that this chapter diverges slightly from the insta edit that it's based on (switched the order of a couple things), but hopefully not in a way that was distracting.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the love and comments. For some reason I've been having some difficulties staying focused with this and being able to go back and read feedback from you lot has been essential to pushing through this mental roadblock.
> 
> Finally just a quick PSA that my RL has gotten a bit busier and is about to ramp up even more, so updates for this may be more sporadic than I'd like them to be, or than has been typical in the past. I am going to try to stick to a regular schedule but I can't make any promises.


	9. nine

_“My favourite conversations are the ones with no real answers.”_

  * Colleen Hoover



  
  
_• two weeks later •_

 

 

“Hey Jug, you wanna come over and have dinner with Ronnie and I?”

 

Jughead looks up from his phone at the sound of Archie’s voice. He glances over a few feet away to where his friend is standing with one leg up on the step to his trailer. “Huh?” he asks, distracted. “Sorry. What did you say?”

 

“I asked if you wanted to have dinner,” Archie repeats, an amused smile on his face. “Ronnie has a phone interview around 7, but since we wrapped early today we were planning to go to that Pop’s place to grab food beforehand.” He tilts his head. “But judging by how absorbed you are in your phone, I’m guessing you have plans with Betty.”

 

Jughead looks sheepishly at him. “I was gonna see if I could catch her on her way out of her library volunteer thing.” He’s suddenly hit with a terrible thought, then asks, “Arch, am I that guy now?”

 

Archie raises an eyebrow questioningly. “What guy?”

 

“That guy that ignores his friends because of his girlfriend.” Jughead wants to add, _like you most of the time,_ but decides against it. If the answer is anything but ‘no’, he’ll need the karma.

 

“Nah.” Archie dismisses the idea easily, then opens the door to his trailer. “I’m with Ron most of the time when we’re not at work, after all.” He cracks a grin. “Plus, I still see you way too fucking much, bro. Every day, all day at work.”

 

Jughead breathes a slight sigh of relief. “Good. If I start to become that guy, though, tell me. Hit me in the head or something. It might not work, but at least let me know.”

 

“No problem, dude. Say hi to Betty for me.” Archie disappears into his trailer, already tugging his wardrobe shirt off.

 

Jughead waits until he’s in his trailer with the door closed before doing the same, because he is at least not _that_ guy for sure. He pulls on a sweater - it’s September now, and the air is just starting to get a bit of a chill in the evenings - and then trades his character’s slacks for a pair of worn jeans. He’s texted Betty but she hasn’t responded yet, so he guesses that she’s still at the library; if he hurries, he can probably catch her on her way out and see if she wants to spend the evening with him.

 

He hasn’t seen her in a few days, mostly because she’s been busy with her family and his filming schedule has been kind of haphazard. They’re in the midst of shooting a scene that’s more heavily action-based. Jughead knows it will look great once completed and edited, but the downside is that filming these scenes can require hundreds of takes of different angles. It’s exhausting and kind of boring at the same time, which is the worst combination. Thinking of Betty’s beautiful face and cute laugh is one of the only things that’s gotten him through without resorting too much to sarcastic, borderline rude humour.

 

Plus, Betty seems to be at her best when she’s smiling and playing with the little kids at the library. He’s seen her there a couple of times now - the first time by accident, the rest very intentionally - and the way that the kids respond to her warms his cold, dead heart. Things are still a little uncertain as far as their status goes, which does bother him a little; he’s been seeing her as much as he can anyway, hoping to convince her to be his … well, whatever she wants. He’d love for her to be his girlfriend, but he understands that that naturally comes with a host of problems that she wouldn’t have to deal with otherwise. All he can hope is that she enjoys their time together enough that what they have might outweigh all of those negatives.

 

Plus, he met her parents a couple of weeks ago, and Jughead doesn’t think that that would have happened if Betty wasn’t at least partially interested in being with him more seriously. She’s been increasingly physically affectionate, and it’s clear that she’s into him; he can see it in her eyes, can feel it in her body when she cuddles against him during their movie nights and when she kisses him softly. Things haven’t progressed too seriously as far as sex goes, but at the same time, Jughead has never had such an easy time with the beginning of a relationship. When they’re together, things just flow; and while he’d love for things to speed up in terms of some kind of official acknowledgement of their relationship, the last thing that he wants is to drive Betty away. Dating him is no easy road, even if he wasn’t a public figure, and if she needs time to adjust to that then he’s more than willing to give it to her.

 

By the time Jughead leaves the set and drives to the library, Betty has texted him back - **_just leaving, how’s work?,_ ** sent ten minutes prior. So before he even gets out of the car, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads south down the street that leads to her house, hoping to catch her along her route home. He keeps his eyes peeled for blonde ponytails, particularly as he drives past some green space, and spots her just toward the edge of the park.

 

Jughead calls out to her, but she’s too far away to hear him; she’s also talking to a few people, so he decides to get out of the car to go get her. As he gets closer, he realizes that one of the people she’s with is the rude redheaded girl he’d met before. There are also two guys that he doesn’t recognize. Betty turns to the side and he can see that she has her arms folded defensively; Jughead immediately gets a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he quickens his pace.

 

As he nears them, he starts to hear snippets of conversation.

 

“You think you’re hot shit now that you know an actor, huh, mini-Cooper?”

 

“When he realizes what a psycho you are, Xanax, he’ll come to his senses.”

 

One of the guys steps even closer to Betty, looming over her, and then Jughead overhears, “You won’t take a ride on the Chuckwagon, but you’ll open your legs for him, huh? I guess you’re a special kind of slut.”

 

Jughead sees red. He’s distantly aware of a few people who seem to have recognized him and who are now also approaching, but he can’t bring himself to care. He has tunnel vision, with one goal in mind: get to Betty. He runs up, shouting, “Hey!”

 

Everyone, including Betty, turns at the sound of his voice. She has tears in her eyes, but they still widen when she sees him. She steps toward him and grabs his hand, which is already balled into a fist. “Juggie, don’t-”

 

“Go get in the car, Betty,” Jughead interrupts, grabbing his keys from his pocket and shoving them into her hand.

 

She takes them, but doesn’t move. She looks uncertainly between him and the three people who had just been harassing her. “Juggie-”

 

_“Go,_ baby,” he repeats, a bit more force in his voice. He wants to get her out of this situation; there’s already a little bit of blood visible on her hands, and he’s fucking enraged. She doesn’t need to see him this angry, either.

 

Betty swallows and nods, then squeezes his forearm and walks quickly across the grass toward the street where his car is parked. Jughead watches until she’s out of earshot, then he turns and glowers at the redheaded girl, flanked by her two minions.

 

“What is wrong with all of you? Did your parents not love you enough and you have to take your angst out on someone who has _nothing_ to do with anything and just tries to make people happy?!” he seethes, aware that his voice is too loud. “The only thing that I can think of is that you’re all fucking jealous of the fact that Betty is a better person than any of you could ever dream of being.” He takes his beanie off, runs a hand through his hair angrily, then replaces it before continuing. “Look, assholes. It’s time to fucking grow up. And if any of you bother her again - online, in person, _whatever -_ it’ll be the last goddamn thing you ever do. I will _end_ you, I swear to god.”

 

Jughead stares them down for a silent minute, glaring at the girl and then each of the guys as if daring them to say something. Finally, one of the boys - a tall, Asian guy - nods, and Jughead immediately turns and walks away.

 

He takes as much time as possible on the short walk back to his car to calm himself down, breathing slowly and steadily. When he climbs in the driver’s seat, he exhales a heavy sigh and looks over at Betty. She’s stopped crying, but she’s got her arms wrapped around herself and she looks impossibly small. He wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms and hold her, but there are already people beginning to walk toward the car, having spotted him. Jughead puts the car in drive, laces their fingers tightly together, then drives almost the whole way to his apartment one-handed.

 

* * *

  


Betty doesn’t speak for the duration of the drive, but the moment they’re out of the parking garage and through his apartment door, she kisses him.

 

Jughead returns the kiss, briefly but firmly, then leads Betty to the couch where he lets her climb into his lap and settle herself around him. Her legs wrap around his waist, her calf pressing against the back of the couch and her foot stuck between the cushions. She tucks her head between his ear and his shoulder, faces away from his neck, and quietly says, “Thank you.”

 

He tightens his arms around her and presses a kiss to her hair. “You’re none of those things that those assholes were saying. You know that, right?”

 

Betty nods, but says nothing.

 

Jughead sighs. He doesn’t understand how someone like Betty and someone like the jerks from her school could even be from the same planet, let alone the same small town. They were so different. “I understand the misconceptions and rumours that people say about me,” he tells her, tugging her ponytail out near-unconsciously so that he can play with her hair. “It comes with the territory. But it’s not fair to you, the things they assume. I mean, we haven’t even slept together! Not that that’s - I’m not expecting…” He trails off, frustrated with his inability to get the words out properly, and closes his eyes softly when Betty squeezes his arm. “I thought I understood what was going on with you before, but actually seeing it was worse. I’m not sorry I got mad, even though it probably - it probably didn’t help, but I _am_ sorry that you had to see it. And because … well, it’s very obvious now that my presence has just made all of this worse for you.”

 

Betty is quiet in his arms, and for a few long minutes, Jughead is afraid that he’s said something wrong. Then she pulls back slightly, still sitting with her legs wrapped around him, and meets his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Juggie. Cheryl’s never liked me, and those guys have had it out for me for years, and my sister before that. Reggie’s kind of an equal opportunity asshole, but Chuck … I turned him down for a date a couple of years ago and he’s been belligerent toward me ever since.” She sighs. “The stupid part is, it’s not even that I didn’t want to go out with him, but my parents wouldn’t let me date until I was seventeen. ”

 

Jughead reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “They don’t know what they’re missing, babe.”

 

She smiles a little and puts her hands on his shoulders. “I did date one guy, last year, before everything happened. His name was Trev. He was really nice, but it never really felt like anything amazing, you know? We were better off as friends.” She glances down, chewing her lower lip nervously. “I’m sure this won’t be a surprise to you, but I’ve never - the things that Reggie and Chuck were saying - I’ve never slept with anyone before. And I don’t really follow celebrity gossip or anything but I know you’ve obviously had more experience than me and I--”

 

“That doesn’t matter, baby,” Jughead interrupts gently, shaking his head. “Every person is different. It’s the chemistry that makes it _great._ And if, or when, you’re ready, I know it’ll be great with us.”

 

He means it; there’s something different about Betty, something special. He can’t put his finger on it, but she runs through his mind constantly and when he’s had a bad day - or a good one - all he wants to do is be around her. She just seems to _get_ him in a way that nobody else does. The mechanics were simple; the connection was the intangible thing, the part that couldn’t be taught or practiced. It just had to be there. And even without sleeping with Betty, he knows they have it.

 

Betty looks at him with an expression on her face that he can only describe as grateful. She opens her mouth to say something, but a knock on the door interrupts her before she can speak. Jughead groans; it has to be Archie or Veronica, and out of all the conversations with his sort-of girlfriend that they could choose to interrupt, of _course_ it’s the one about sex.

 

“Hold that thought,” Jughead says, pecking her lips. He shifts her off of his lap just enough so that he can slip out from her underneath her, then makes his way to the door.

 

As expected, when he opens the door he finds Veronica standing there with Archie just behind her. Before he can get a word out, Veronica thrusts her cell phone at him and proclaims, “Hey Holden Caulfield, your little rant is online.”

 

Jughead blinks at her, momentarily drawing a blank. “What?”

 

“Yelling at those guys in the park about Betty.” Veronica pushes past him into his apartment, still speaking. “Somebody filmed it and put it up on - oh. Hi, Betty!” She turns to look at Jughead and makes an apologetic face. “Sorry, I didn’t realize she was here. We can go, B, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Betty has sit up on the couch and pulled a pillow onto her lap. “It’s okay,” she says in a subdued tone. She reaches a hand up self-consciously to check her hair, which Jughead notes is messier than usual (thanks to him). “So um, sorry, he yelled at them?”

 

Jughead looks at Archie with clear warning in his eyes, his jaw tensed, but his friend can only shrug in response. Obviously, Veronica would do what she liked.

 

“Yeah,” Veronica says, breezing over to Betty and sitting beside her. “It’s cute, in a protective-boyfriend sort of way, but the best part is the stunned look on this redheaded bitch’s face.” She swipes her fingertips across her phone, and then Jughead hears his own voice coming from the speakers.

 

“Ugh,” he mutters, running a hand across his face and walking over to rest his elbows against the kitchen island. He should’ve known better than to get all worked up in such a public place - _does_ know better - and now he’s going to get Betty in the middle of a social media firestorm. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

Archie claps a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, but you’re a sweet idiot.”

 

Jughead looks up, slightly amused despite how horrified he is at himself. “That’s usually my line.”

 

Archie grins. “Yeah. How does that shoe fit, bro?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Fits great,” he deadpans, then slides his gaze over to Betty. She’s just finished watching the youtube video on Veronica’s phone, and is chewing her lower lip again. He swallows hard; he knows that he should go over to her and apologize for making such a scene, but he feels like he’s immobilized here, leaning against the island.

 

Betty looks over at him and suddenly stands up from the couch. She walks toward him slowly, and although Jughead’s never seen her be violent at all, her expression is unreadable and he suddenly has a brief fear that she’s going to slap him. Instead, she steps between his feet, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him.

 

Veronica lets out an audible “aww”, and while Jughead’s sure this is only going to increase the teasing he gets from her and Archie about Betty, he can’t bring himself to care. His arms have naturally fallen around her waist, and he tightens his grip when Betty breaks the kiss to hug his neck. He kisses her shoulder and closes his eyes as he holds her, unwilling to let go even to shoo his friends out of the apartment.

 

“You guys are absolutely adorable,” Veronica declares. “Right, Archiekins?”

 

“Mhm.” Jughead opens his eyes to see Archie crack a wide, teasing grin. “It’s just _precious.”_

 

“Fuck off,” Jughead says affectionately. He rubs Betty’s back. “You okay, babe?”

 

She pulls back as she nods, slightly red-faced from embarrassment. “Yeah.” She seems to be suddenly aware of Archie and Veronica staring at them, because her body tenses a little and she steps out of Jughead’s arms. “Sorry,” she adds shyly.

 

“Don’t apologize, Betty,” Archie tells her, smiling warmly. “We’re just teasing.” He drapes an arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “The other reason we came over - we’re just headed out to dinner and thought we’d double check with you, Jug, see if you changed your mind.”

 

Jughead glances over at Betty and shakes his head. She seems okay, but she’s still somewhat withdrawn and given the hectic last hour they’ve had, he figures they could use a little relaxation time here. “We’re good,” he replies. “But thanks again.”

 

“No problem.” Veronica quickly hugs a mildly surprised Betty and mutters something in her ear that Jughead can’t hear. Betty gives her a small smile and nods when they pull away, which piques Jughead’s interest. “Bye, Jug,” she says, then waggles her fingers at him, grabs Archie’s hand, and leaves.

 

Betty wanders back to the couch and sits down neatly, fidgeting a little with her hands. Jughead watches her for a moment, concerned, but once he’s sure she’s not tucking her nails to her palms, he lifts himself onto the countertop. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asks, carefully scanning her face. “That’s what I was originally trying to find you for. We got off a bit early today and I wanted to see you.”

 

She looks up at him and smiles softly. “Sure,” she says. “I can cook something, depending on what you have.”

 

_Uhhh._ Jughead looks at her sheepishly. “I don’t really have groceries, per se,” he explains, reaching up to take his beanie off. “How do you feel about Vietnamese?”

 

Betty tucks her legs underneath her. “I’m always up for phở,” she agrees, pulling out her phone. “I’ll call.”

 

“Okay. I’m going to grab a quick shower while we wait, then,” Jughead says, hopping off the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

  


When he gets out of the shower, Jughead slips on a pair of sweatpants and a worn, soft t-shirt. He foregoes both socks and his favourite worn hat in favour of padding out into the living room barefoot, where he finds Betty flopped on her back on the couch. Her face is contorted into a slight frown of concentration as she texts on her phone.

 

“Everything okay?” Jughead asks, flopping his wet hair to one side.

 

Betty glances up at him with a bit of surprise, clearly not having heard him enter the room, and then sits up immediately. “Oh! Hi. Yes, sorry, was just texting Kevin. He apparently saw the video of you defending me, and wanted to inform me that - quote - ‘it was really sexy, and Betty if you don’t jump him I will’.”

 

“Oh.” Jughead flashes a playful half-grin. “Tell Kevin I said thank you, and that I’m flattered, but I’m pretty happy with the hot blonde I picked up on the bus.”

 

Betty blushes and sets her phone down. “Will do,” she says, biting the corner of her lip. “Food should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

 

He sits down on the couch perpendicular to her, slides his arms around her waist, and pulls her into his lap. “I’m gonna make those minutes count, then,” he says lightly, and kisses her.

  


* * *

 

 

_She’s so fucking beautiful,_ Jughead thinks.

 

He’s sitting on the couch, stomach full of delicious Vietnamese takeout. Ordinarily, he’d be closing his eyes for a little food-coma nap, but Betty is bustling around his kitchen in a pair of the shortest shorts he’s ever seen her wear and he is officially distracted. She’d spilled chili sauce on her jeans and asked if she could spray them before a stain sets, which he’d had no problem with. Except then after disappearing into his storage-slash-laundry closet, she’d returned wearing a pair of tiny terrycloth shorts that she’d apparently dug out of her backpack, and _fuck._

 

He’s trying really hard not to be too obvious about ogling her, because part of him is also still a little concerned. She’d eaten a little, but not that much, and he wants to make sure that she’s okay. So as she’s consolidating containers and putting tupperware away in the fridge, Jughead gets up and goes over to her.

 

“Leave them, I’ll do that later,” he murmurs, slipping his arms around her waist and settling his hands on her abdomen. “Come here.”

 

The dark cloud is still hovering over her, but she relaxes into his grasp and Jughead takes that as a good sign. He noses at the side of her cheek until she turns her head toward him, then he drops a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids close slowly, but when they open again she gives him a little smile, too, and that’s everything to him right now.

 

“What did you have in mind?” Betty asks. She tilts her head back toward the top of his left shoulder, and Jughead wonders if she knows what kind of a view down her shirt she’s giving him. Her shirt is blue but her lacy bra is a surprisingly dark shade of pink, standing out against the creamy white of her breasts. They look spectacular. He wants to touch one.

 

When Jughead manages to drag his twelve-year-old hormonal gaze away from Betty’s chest, he realizes that she’s watching him and that she’s fully aware of what he’s just been doing. His first instinct is to feel like an asshole - after the kinds of things that the dickheads from her high school had been saying, he should’ve thought that maybe she wouldn’t be in any kind of mood to even do so much as kiss him - but then he notices the corner of her lip that’s caught between her teeth and he sees the heavily-lashed way she’s looking at him. _She did that intentionally,_ he realizes. She’d meant for him to look.

 

He’s never been so okay with being just another average red-blooded male.

 

“We could go to the bedroom,” he suggests against her lips, turning the rest of her body to face him. “It’s not - I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do. You can let me know what’s okay.”

 

Betty reaches up and removes his beanie, tossing it to the side. “Okay,” she breathes, her eyes now full of nervous excitement.

 

“Okay.” Jughead smiles at her for a moment, then reaches down and grips the backs of her thighs. When he lifts her into his arms, Betty gives a little squeak of surprise and hugs his neck for stability.

 

He carries her into the bedroom and sets her down on the nearly-black navy of his bedspread. She stands out like an angel against it in her little white shorts and her blue t-shirt, with her blonde hair shining behind her. It fans across the pillowcase and down onto her shoulders like a pretty yellow waterfall. He’s in awe of her.

 

“Babe, you are so fucking beautiful.”

 

Betty’s face flushes a delighted shade of pink. “Thank you,” she whispers, pressing the palm of her hand to his cheek. “I imagine you already know this, but you’re really hot.”

 

Jughead laughs easily and shrugs good-naturedly. He’s heard that from millions of girls for years, but somehow it sounds different coming from Betty. He cups her face in his hand, replies, “Thanks,” and then kisses her.

 

She returns the kiss, fervently at first and then more slowly afterward. He nibbles on her lower lip, which he’s surprised to learn makes her elicit a high-pitched whining noise, and then deepens the kiss. Betty’s hands stretch across his back, falling in large sweeps from his shoulders to his lats. Eventually they fall on his lower back, her fingers curl around the hem of his shirt, and she tugs upward.

 

Jughead gets the hint. He breaks the kiss, needing air anyway, and takes his shirt off in one swift movement. Her eyes darken when she sees his bare chest and abdomen; he’s not the most built guy by far, given that his ‘thing’ has always been that he cuts a bit more of a long, lean shadow than his Archie-esque contemporaries, but he does go to the gym and as a result has some degree of defined muscularity. It seems to be enough for Betty, because she actually licks her lips.

 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hovering back over her and bringing her in to kiss him. After a minute, he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “You’re so fucking tempting, Betty,” he confesses.

 

Her hand is in his hair. “What do you mean?” she asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

 

He wants to kiss that look off her face, wants to drag his lips across her body and tug her toward him until she’s close enough that he can fuck her into the mattress.

 

But he won’t, not until she’s ready, and so for now he has to calm the fuck down. Jughead takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before replying. “I wasn’t lying when I said you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Everything about you just makes me want you more. And I _like_ you too, so much that it kind of scares me, because I also am not sure where your head is at and I’ve never been out on this kind of a limb before. But you’re worth it,” he tells her, dropping onto his side and pulling her to lay on his chest. “Just this is worth it.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment, thoughtfully tracing patterns across his skin. “I like you so much it scares me too,” she confesses after a few beats. “When I’m with you I feel so calm. It’s not like that with a lot of people - Polly, Kevin, sometimes my parents. I want to be with you. I really hope you don’t think that I don’t want that. But I know it’s not as simple as that, with everything, and I’m just scared I can’t handle it.” She takes a deep breath and presses her face against his shoulder. “Like school, like I couldn’t handle that. But I’m tired of being scared, too.”

 

Betty’s quiet for a long time after that, and Jughead just lays there and holds her, rubbing her back and dropping kisses into her hair. Finally, he says, “Stay the night.”

 

She nuzzles further into him. When she speaks, it’s with an impossibly delicate voice, just a whisper on the wind. “Okay.”

 


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love. For those of you following the insta edit, jeemyjamz and I have collaborated on something that I will call [3.25](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/165211565820/a-collab-bw-sylwrites-i-take-me-home-in). Again, contains spoilers if you're not keeping up on it.

_ "When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth." _

  * Jess C. Scott



  
  
_ • three weeks later • _

  
  
  


Betty is not typically a late sleeper.

 

There are a number of things that usually wake her up. If it's not her alarm, then it's the sunlight through her window or the sound of Polly or her parents talking in the hallway. And sometimes, her body just wakes up naturally at six, ready to be hauled out of bed for yoga or a run. 

 

But today, none of those things happen. Today Betty wakes up at seven-thirty, and even then it's only because her bed mate is being kind of disruptive - albeit deliciously so. Jughead is behind her under the blankets of his bed, where Betty has spent at least three nights a week for the last three weeks. He's swept her hair to the side and is kissing her neck softly, trailing his lips to her ear and then pressing them just beneath it. It tickles to start, stirring her from her sleep, but it soon becomes something more. 

 

This is Betty's new favourite part of the day. 

 

She loves falling asleep with him, of course; it's comforting to have him wrapped around her, and there's usually a fairly heated make out session that precedes it. The actual sleep is amazing too; she's never had such a perfect, dreamless rest as she has had these past few weeks with Jughead. But the mornings are still the best, especially if neither of them have pressing time commitments and they can spend a little extra time laying in bed together. 

 

Today he has to work, but his call time isn't until 9:30. Betty doesn't usually stay if it's any earlier, because her presence seems to make it harder for him to get up and go, and she doesn't want to impact his job. She stretches against him, smiling at his affection, and wonders briefly why Jughead is awake already. 

 

Then he says, “Morning,” his voice still rough from sleep, and moves the strap of her tank top over slightly so that he can mouth at her bare shoulder.

 

“Good morning.” The words come out as a bit of a sigh. Her skin is more sensitive in the morning and all of his ministrations are sending her body into a swirl of sleepy bliss, which is so welcomed in her morning haze. She relaxes even further into him, if possible; for as much as Betty tries to be strong and independent, she  _ loves  _ cuddling, and she's gonna take advantage whenever he's willing to give it. 

 

“I don't wanna go to work,” Jughead whines into her neck, trailing his hand down her arm and beneath the covers. It finds the skin of her waist, then slips deftly. under the hem of her tank top. “I wanna stay here with you.”

 

Betty closes her eyes and smiles, focusing on his warmth everywhere. “That sounds nice,” she agrees, letting out a soft sigh as his hand cups one of her breasts. This is a line they've only recently crossed, and so far she has very few complaints. She knows she's going at a snail’s pace with him, but she's still kind of anxious about the difference in their experience levels and has found that taking it slow has helped her manage that. He hasn't given her any pressure at all, but she can tell that sometimes he wants to push further and has to stop himself, so she knows he's ready when she is. 

 

“We could order in bacon and eggs,” Jughead tells her ear, gently fondling her breast in his hand. He runs his thumb over her nipple, eliciting a halted noise from Betty. “Or pancakes,” he adds, kissing her neck softly. He brings his forefinger up to meet his thumb and pinches, gently at first and then more firmly, until Betty lets out a high-pitched whining noise and jerks her body involuntarily. 

 

She sees dull stars, and he rolls her onto her back. She looks up at him, so hot as he hovers above her with his floppy hair and his bright, smug grin. “Pancakes are good,” she says, biting her lip in delighted anticipation at the newly dark look on his face.

 

Jughead pushes her shirt up until her chest is exposed, pauses briefly to glance at her face, then lifts it off altogether when she nods at him. He stares for a moment, blinking slowly, then lowers himself down and kisses her. “You're so beautiful, baby,” he says in the brief pauses where he breaks for air. His right hand slides up to her chest and covers her left breast. “So sexy,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than anything. He tugs at her nipple again, rolling it between his fingers and groping liberally. 

 

Betty practically mewls, squirming beneath him to find friction, and he grins into her mouth. She manages to swat at his arm despite the trance he has her body in, so full of sensations she didn't know were possible and nerve endings she swears she didn't have ten minutes ago. “So cocky,” she accuses, then grabs his face and kisses him hard. 

 

As soon as they break for air, Jughead groans her name (“Betty,  _ fuck”),  _ pulls her right leg over the back of his left, and thrusts against her. She gasps at the feeling of him; the movement has added kindling to something that's already smouldering low in her abdomen. Even with the layers of underwear and pajama shorts between them, she’s completely thrown both physically and mentally. The noise she makes seems to only encourage him, because he drops his head into the pillow over her shoulder and does it again. 

 

“Oh my god,” she breathes, bucking her hips up instinctively. She needs more of this and more of him, more quickly and with more force, more friction,  _ more.  _ “Juggie, please,” she begs, wiggling beneath him. 

 

His body suddenly stills on top of hers, and he groans heavily into her neck. “We gotta stop, baby. If you want to go slow, we gotta stop.”

 

The pause gives Betty a moment to inhale and exhale slowly, gathering the rational components of her brain that he'd scattered so easily. She wants to get this lost everyday. Still, she’d wanted to take it slow for a reason, so she nods in careful agreement despite every facet of her brain and body screaming not to. “Okay.” Her hand comes to thread through his hair, and she kisses him softly when he lifts his face from the pillow. “That was … so amazing, Juggie.” She feels her cheeks heat up slightly as she confesses, “I think I'm ready for more.”

 

Jughead’s eyes close at her words. “I'm going to make you feel good, Betty,” he promises, squeezing one of her breasts affectionately. “I'm going to break you apart and then I'm going to put you back together. But not when I have to get up and go to work in an hour.” He kisses her again, as chastely as Betty imagines is possible when his hand is still fondling her chest. “I want to take my time with you.”

 

His words send a thrill to the ends of her toes that's nearly commensurate with what he’d just caused with his body, and Betty nods fervently. “Okay.”

 

“Okay.” Jughead smiles at her and then rolls off, rubbing his hands over his face gently. “I’m going to grab a shower, then I can make you breakfast before I have to go, if you want. Unless you have to work early?”

 

“How about l make  _ you  _ breakfast instead,” Betty suggests, sliding her legs off the edge of the bed and standing up. “I do have to work at the  _ Register  _ today but it’s just back-office stuff, nothing that has an actual time of day attached to it.” She shrugs at him playfully. “Also, I don’t really feel like Honey Nut Cheerios.”

 

“They’re the best kind of Cheerios. Don’t be a hater.”

 

Betty giggles and rolls her eyes. She shoves her feet in the fluffy slippers that Jughead bought for her (she’d mentioned about being cold one time, and two days later a heavy blanket and a pair of obnoxiously pink slippers appeared in his living room), then shuffles out to his kitchen and begins to assess his grocery situation.

 

It’s less terrible than she’d thought. Betty’s pretty sure that he now gets groceries delivered on a semi-regular basis almost exclusively because she’s over so much. She of course would prefer that he eat an apple once in a while for his own health and not because of her, but she also figures that beggars can’t be choosers. She takes note of the bananas on the counter, the new container of strawberries in the fridge, and the pancake mix in the cupboard and makes an executive decision: strawberry-banana pancakes it is.

 

Ten minutes later, Betty’s at the stove flipping a flawless pancake - she’s really proud of her technique, perfected over years of weekend breakfasts - when Jughead noisily pads into the kitchen. He comes to stand directly behind her, chin looming over her shoulder intentionally.

 

“Ooh, pancakes,” he observes. “It just keeps getting better.”

 

Betty smiles and leans back into him slightly. “They’ll be ready right away. Wanna set the table?”

 

Jughead pecks her cheek. “Sure thing, babe.” He sneaks a hand down and palms her ass briefly before taking a few steps to the side to grab plates from a cupboard.

 

Betty smiles to herself almost shyly, tucking her chin against her chest. She piles the pancake on top of the existing stack and hazards a sidelong glance at him. God, he’s attractive, she thinks, her eyes falling to his wet hair as a stray lock grazes against his perfect cheekbones. He’s gotten a bit bolder with his hands lately, and she can’t say that she’s mad about it. It feels so oddly domestic for him to casually touch her during an activity as mundane as making breakfast. Betty had always imagined romantic love as some kind of grand, dramatic gesture, complete with fireworks and sunset kisses, but as she watches Jughead drop a fork on the kitchen floor and then pick it up, swearing, she can’t help but wonder if maybe  _ this  _ is what it really feels like.

  
  


* * *

  
  


After Betty’s done at the Register, she puts her running shoes on and goes for a long jog by the river. Halfway through her route, she slows to a walk and calls Polly.

 

Her sister is gone now, back at university just like most of the people Betty had known in school. Polly seems to love living away from home, and always talks about how nice it is to have independence from their well-meaning but completely overbearing parents. It was one of the things that Betty had been most looking forward to before she’d made the decision to take a gap year, but even though she’s slightly jealous of Polly, she can’t bring herself to be anything but happy for her sister.

 

Besides, they’re only one timezone away, and the phone is a marvellous invention.

 

Polly’s voice rings through the phone, bright and cheery. “Hi Betty! How’s it going?”

 

Betty holds the phone to her ear and smiles at a coniferous tree. “Hey Poll. I’m good. How are you?”

 

“Great. It’s so nice to be back. And as it turns out, my RA this year is  _ really  _ cute.” Polly makes a clucking sound with her tongue that reminds Betty of their mother, then says, “But you didn’t call to hear about my hot RA. So what’s up, Betty?”

 

She smiles at the trail in front of her, one hand still clutching the phone. Polly knew her all too well. “I wanted to talk to you about … god, this is embarrassing. Um. So, Jughead -”

 

“How  _ is  _ your hot movie star boyfriend, by the way?” Polly interrupts.

 

“He’s great,” Betty replies earnestly. “He’s so great. I haven’t been this happy in years, Poll, and sometimes I swear I’ve never felt this way at all before.” 

 

This is definitely true; even the side effects of dating a famous person were beginning to wane a bit. Things have been going well for her mentally ever since she’d made her instagram private, and even Cheryl, Reggie, and Chuck have been mostly leaving her alone since Jughead confronted them. His fans are still a little much at times, but Betty’s learning not to look at certain sites and accounts and just focus on reality. Recently she’d seen a picture posted of herself and Jughead walking hand-in-hand, clearly taken by a fan who’d spotted them, and while Betty had definitely felt a little invaded upon, it hadn’t affected her nearly as badly as it probably would have a couple of months prior.

 

“He’s obviously super, super into you,” Polly informs her. “If that’s what you’re anxious about.”

 

Betty shakes her head, then realizes that her sister can’t see her and quickly says, “That’s not it. I know he likes me. In fact, I know he likes me a  _ lot,  _ and I like him a lot, and I … I want to have sex with him.” She rushes the words out, feeling awkward even though it’s just Polly. Betty takes a deep breath, slows her pace a little, and continues. “But I’ve never slept with anyone before and he has. He’s not pressuring me at all - that’s not - I just, I’m nervous.”

 

There’s a beat of silence on the phone, then Polly squeals so loudly that Betty has to tilt the earpiece back from her head slightly.  _ “Betty!  _ You’re all grown up. Aww. My sweet little sister, ready to take the plunge.” She sighs lightly. “I remember my first time. Jason Blossom. He was so awkward too, it was great. Look, Betty, Jughead seems really sweet with you. He knows it’d be your first time?”

 

Betty blushes and glances around the forest self-consciously, anxious even though she knows she’s alone. “Yeah.”

 

“Then I’m sure he’s going to take care of you. Just make sure you go slow and don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Even if you think you want to, if you get down to the dirty and something doesn’t feel right, you  _ always -  _ at any point - have the right to say, ‘no, stop’. You understand?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Betty says impatiently. She understands consent and while she knows that people can behave unexpectedly, she’s not concerned at all about Jughead. “But what about - what do I  _ do?”  _

 

Polly laughs softly. “Believe me, even if you don’t think you know what to do, your body does. Go with what feels good. But make sure you’re prepared, okay? Sometimes things can happen unexpectedly, and you don’t wanna be caught off guard.”

 

“Yeah, I know about condoms too, Poll.”

 

Her sister chuckles again. “I mean,  _ yeah,  _ obviously that. But also the more superficial stuff that makes you feel confident. Whenever I knew I’d be seeing Jason, I made sure I wore nice underwear. Lacy, sexy stuff. Not that girls have to do that, but it made  _ me  _ feel good about myself, and it’s just easier when you’re not laying there self-consciously because it’s laundry day and you’re wearing your period panties.”

 

Betty shudders at the idea of that, says, “Dear  _ god,”  _ and Polly laughs.

  
  
  


Later that night, she lays in bed and thinks about him. She thinks about his sexy grin and the adorable way his hair flops when it’s falling out of his ever-present beanie. She thinks about the way his eyes seem to betray his every emotion when he looks at her. And then, she starts to think about other things: his lips, the fullness of them, how soft they are against her skin, and the touch of his hands on her body.

 

She keeps thinking about him when she slips her hand between her legs. 

 

(In the morning, she takes her car, drives to Greendale, and buys some nice lingerie.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


Betty has long had a somewhat combative and multifaceted relationship with her mirror. She’s had issues with it over both her general appearance and attractiveness  _ (am I pretty?)  _ and over the person reflected in it  _ (is this me?).  _ Her struggles with anxiety, depression and proclivity toward panic attacks had served in part to heighten these issues.

 

But lately, things have been looking up, and so has her mirror. Right now, she’s standing in front of it wearing the new lingerie she’d purchased a few days before. She has a date tonight with Jughead, who had spent yesterday (the Friday of a three-day weekend) catching up on sleep after a couple of night shoots. She’d visited the retirement home in the morning, then gone for a run and helped her mom around the house for a little while before retreating to her bedroom to read, relax, and eventually get ready for her date. The first step was breaking out her new nude-coloured underwear, including a balconette-style bra that even she thinks is doing good things for her boobs, and lacy panties that are both literally and figuratively cheeky.

 

She looks pretty good, Betty thinks, and feels a somewhat unfamiliar rush of self-confidence come through her chest. She contemplates wearing a miniskirt, but that feels a little too Cheryl Blossom, so instead Betty pulls on a pair of navy shorts and a light blue and white top. Its long sleeves give Betty a bit of comfort that she’s not flashing  _ all  _ her skin, but it also has a scoop neckline that dips lower than she’s ever worn before and she feels like she’s riding some kind of line between sexy and desperate.

 

Hopefully, it’s worth it.

 

Betty throws her coat on and then drives her car over to his apartment, mostly because she’s not planning to come home tonight and it’s proven handy to have her own way home in the morning. Her parents have been remarkably cool both about Jughead and about her spending the night there - much more so than Betty had expected, even though she  _ is  _ an adult now - but she also thinks there’s a difference between them knowing where she is and them having to actually see their daughter’s boyfriend drop her off in the morning. She’s driven her car over there most nights that she expects to stay, but this time it feels slightly different. This time, her purse contains a few condoms borrowed from a hidden box in Polly’s room, because she’s planning to seduce her hot actor boyfriend.

 

On the surface, it sounds so unbelievable, but when she sees him slip through the front door of his building with a half-grin on his face, Betty thinks that nothing has ever made more sense.

 

She knows that Jughead wanted to drive, citing another surprise, so Betty stops to let him hop in and then takes her car into the underground lot to leave it in visitor parking. It takes less than a minute for them to walk over to his reserved spot afterward, where Betty climbs into the passenger seat of his car and waits patiently for him to walk around to his side. As soon as he does, he leans across the console for a kiss, and she happily obliges.

 

“You look beautiful, Betty,” Jughead tells her with thudding sincerity in his blue eyes.

 

She smiles sweetly at him and squeezes his hand. “Thanks, Juggie. Ready to go?”

 

“Yeah.” He puts the car in drive, then eases out of the parkade and begins to head downtown. Betty watches out the window, curious as to their destination, and raises a confused eyebrow when they stop half a block down from the Bijou. The marquee reads  _ ‘Closed for Private Event’,  _ so Betty isn’t sure what he thinks he’s doing, unless they’re supposed to be going to the Italian restaurant one block up.

 

“Uh, Juggie? It’s closed,” Betty states, pointing her finger at the sign.

 

Jughead parks the car and turns to her, smiling. “Not for us it’s not.”

 

A sudden feeling of excitement washes over Betty, and she bites her lip in anticipation. “What are you talking about?”

 

He gets out of the car and comes around to open her door for her, but Betty beats him to it and meets him on the sidewalk. He gives her a playfully derisive look and grabs her hand. “You’ll see.”

 

And she does, fifteen minutes later. Apparently, Jughead has paid to buy out the entire theatre and have them show  _ Star Wars: Episode IX,  _ which had come out the previous December. They’ve both seen it, of course - they’ve had extensive conversations about how different it would have been if Carrie Fisher hadn’t died before filming, given the role she was supposed to have played in it - but it’s also the last of their  _ Star Wars  _ marathon, and he’d apparently wanted to do it “in style”.

 

“You’re crazy,” Betty tells him, shaking her head even as she marvels at the totally empty theatre. 

 

Jughead shrugs. “I try not to play that annoying actor-guy-who-pulls-strings role, but it can be useful on rare occasions.” He gestures toward the expanse of seats before them. “Your pick, babe.”

 

Betty chooses what in her opinion are the two best seats in the theatre, mid-way up and in the centre. She pushes up the divider between the seats and leans against him as soon as he sits down. He sets their popcorn and drinks to the side, drapes his arm around her, and presses a kiss to her temple. Cuddling with her boyfriend in a movie theatre: something Betty never thought she’d get to do while dating somebody with a public profile like Jughead. She decides she might like this surprise even better than the visit to the set, and settles back in her seat to watch the movie. 

 

Partway through the third quarter of the movie, Jughead’s hand drops to rest on Betty’s knee. He’s rubbed her leg before, of course; Betty’s no stranger to his hands on her, not anymore. But this time, she’s got a goal in mind, so she parts her legs a bit more and reaches over, moving his hand so that he’s gripping the inside of her thigh. He instinctively tucks his fingertips just underneath her leg and lets his thumb run gently along the top. She can feel him glancing at her, surely with a questioning expression, but Betty stares forward determinedly and he seems to eventually accept her move with a quick squeeze of her thigh.

 

The downside to this part of Betty’s plan is that she can’t have Jughead’s arm around her like she had for much of the first part of the movie. On the other hand, his palm is so warm against her skin that it’s totally worth the loss, and she lets herself enjoy the contact for the length of another scene.

 

Once the movie switches, changing to a scene on yet another desert planet - (seriously, was there  _ any  _ vegetation in the  _ Star Wars  _ universe?) - Betty rests her head on Jughead’s shoulder, which she knows will enhance her cleavage a little. She puts her hand over his on her leg, squeezes, and lets out a soft sigh. Her eyes flick back to the screen, with the only evidence of her plan being the small smile that she’s tucked into his shoulder.

 

Jughead suddenly shifts on her left, turning his head, and mutters into her ear, “You’re driving me crazy.”

 

Betty lifts her head and looks at him with the corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Good,” she says simply, then turns away with a rush of power that she’s never experienced before. She can feel him shifting uncomfortably, his hand edging higher on her leg, and  _ god,  _ it’s amazing to know that she’s the one doing this to him. She’s never owned her body in this way and it feels  _ incredible,  _ both physically and mentally.

 

After another fifteen minutes of Jughead’s eyes weighing her down, he finally moves his hand off her thigh and drapes it over her shoulders again. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

 

She obeys, dragging her eyes away from John Boyega to look at Jughead with intentional wide-eyed innocence, and is thrilled when he immediately kisses her. Betty kisses him back, loving the way he tugs her unceremoniously closer, his left hand now dangerously high on her ribcage. She takes his lip between her teeth and bites down gently, which sends his hand grazing not-so-accidentally over her breast. 

 

Jughead mumbles something against her mouth, and Betty pulls back, giving him a questioning look. In a throaty voice, he asks, “Do you want to get out of here?”

 

She nods.


	11. eleven

_She used to wear her hair like you_  
_except when she was sleeping,_  
_and then she'd weave it on a loom  
_ _of smoke and gold and breathing_

  * Leonard Cohen, “Winter Lady”



  


Jughead’s hands are unsteady on the steering wheel as he drives down the short, empty streets of downtown Riverdale toward his apartment building.

 

Usually, he’s a great driver. His main problem is primarily a poor sense of direction, but he’s pretty good at the actual physical operation of a motor vehicle. He passed his driving exam first try with no points off and no nerves to distract him, unlike so many other sixteen-year-olds he’d known. Because of _course -_ it’s not like it’s hard. It’s especially easy in a place like Riverdale, which has literally three stoplights that Jughead’s pretty sure are just for show.

 

At least, it’s easy under normal circumstances.

 

(These are not normal circumstances.)

 

In the passenger seat, like usual, is Betty. Her hands are folded demurely on her lap as she watches carefully out the window. This is not atypical - Jughead drives a lot, and Betty is his primary passenger. What _is_ unusual is the way she’s been acting tonight. First, she’d shown up wearing shorts that are probably too short for the cool autumn air and a shirt that’s far lower-cut than he’s seen her in before, and while he’s not complaining, the whole thing had definitely seemed a little orchestrated. Then once they’d started watching the movie, she’d deliberately put his hand on her thigh, which she has to know drives him crazy. This alone, Jughead could deal with. He can sit and watch a great movie while rubbing his gorgeous girlfriend’s leg. That’s totally fine.

 

But then she’d leaned against him, her shirt had peaked, and he’d gotten an incredible view of her breasts, which promptly destroyed what was left of his self-control. Jughead isn’t quite sure what’s gotten into her tonight, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear that her uncharacteristic forwardness is intentional.

 

He pulls into the parking garage beneath his building and parks in his designated spot. He turns the car off and stares forward for a moment before he risks a glance at Betty. And _jesus fuck,_ she’s biting her goddamn lip. It’s as if she wants him to lose his mind.

 

“Fuck it,” Jughead decides, and leans across the seat to kiss her. Waiting until he’s in his apartment is apparently not an option right now for his body, not when she’s acting like this and certainly not with her words from earlier that week in his head - _I think I’m ready for more._ (If this is her signalling that, then god, he’s in.) He knows there are security cameras in the garage and the last thing he needs is a viral video of himself feeling up Betty in public, but right now he’s having an incredibly difficult time caring about that. So he blocks her body with his as he leans over, and taking advantage of the angle, he slips his hand into the low neckline of her top to squeeze her breast.  

 

“Betty,” he mutters into her neck, “I’m - you need to tell me how far you want to go tonight. Because you look incredible and you’ve been teasing me all night and if I don’t know right now when you want me to stop-”

 

Betty kisses him, her delicate hands coming up to cup his face. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers as she pulls away, her green eyes a clear mixture of nerves and excitement. “I brought condoms.”

 

Jughead swears under his breath and kisses her again, swift and hard. “Let’s go upstairs, baby.”

 

He keeps her tucked against him for the elevator ride up to his floor, his chin on top of her head and his arms wrapped securely around her. She fits so well against him now, when they’re just standing, and now that he knows what her intentions are all Jughead can do is wonder if they’ll still fit like this once they get inside. Betty’s a virgin, he knows; she’s been pretty forthcoming with that information, but right now it honestly seems like he’s more nervous about that than she is. He knows how far she’s come over the last year and he knows how hard it _should_ be for her to trust someone. And out of everyone, she picked _him._

 

He doesn’t want her to regret it.

 

So once they’re safely inside his apartment and the door is locked against any potential intrusion from his ill-timed but well-meaning friends, Jughead turns to Betty and asks, “Are you sure, Betts?”

 

“Yeah,” Betty says, shrugging her jacket off and hanging it by the door. Her hands go to the hem of her shirt and begin to raise it, but Jughead reaches over and stills them.

 

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, threading his fingers through hers. “What’s the rush?”

 

Her cheeks burn pink, and all he can think is how impossible it seems that one person could be both so many things at one time. She’s kind, smart, funny, and obviously beautiful - he’s still dumbfounded that she’s willing to stoop to dating a jaded actor from LA.

 

“I assumed nakedness was part of the deal,” Betty says, a teasing edge in her voice.

 

Jughead grins. “It is, but it’s only polite to let me unwrap the package, babe. C’mere.” He tugs her toward him, slips his arms around her waist, and kisses her.

 

The kiss is like most of the others lately - deep and full, like she’s trying to tell him something and she can’t use words. Betty’s hands slide up his arms and find temporary purchase on his shoulders, her thumbs pressing into his skin. When Jughead nibbles ever-so-slightly on her lower lip, her hands move upward and thread themselves into his hair. She winds the dark strands once around her fingers and tugs, whimpering gently into his mouth, and he wonders if this was what she’d been meaning to say all along.

 

Jughead drops his right hand from her lower back and settles it on Betty’s waist, caressing gently for a few heartbeats. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, breaking the kiss briefly. “I’ve been thinking about touching you all night.”

 

She exhales shortly, her breath tickling his chin, and says, “Don’t let your dreams be dreams, Juggie.”

 

He laughs and kisses her again, letting his hand slide upward. He cops a quick feel, then tugs at the low neckline of her shirt until her left breast is almost fully exposed. It’s clad in a nude-coloured bra that Jughead doesn’t recognize - not that he’s that well versed in Betty’s lingerie yet, but most of her bras seem to be pale pink or blue, with the occasional polka-dotted one thrown in. It’s also cut lower, somehow, straighter rather than angled, and he wonders if _that’s_ why her boobs look even more incredible today than usual.

 

His thumb traces the edge, forefinger dragging along the soft skin of her breast. He pulls back slightly from the kiss to mumble, “Is this new?”

 

Betty’s green eyes seem darker as they sparkle back at him under the light of his apartment foyer. “Yes.”

 

Jughead lets his eyelids shut and focuses on his breathing for a second. “Did you buy it for me?”

 

Her voice is quieter and more light in his ear when she speaks again. “Yes.”

 

 _Fuck._ His hand drifts upward instinctively, his thumb gently touching the hollow of her throat and his fingers curling around the side of her neck. Her breathing quickens ever-so-slightly, and when Jughead opens his eyes he can see that Betty has closed hers. He swallows and lets his fingers follow the line of her collarbone to the edge of her shirt’s wide, low neckline. He pushes it just over the edge her shoulder and the bra strap with it, then moves his hand down again to the stiff lace.

 

“You wore this shirt for me too,” he continues, slipping his hand into the cup of her bra and gently tweaking her nipple with his fingertips. “You wanted me to stare at these gorgeous tits, didn’t you?”

 

Betty’s breath hitches, but she nods and whispers, “Yes.”

 

“What else, babe?” Jughead asks, brushing his lips against her jaw. He walks her slowly backward toward the hallway, kissing her neck delicately, until her back hits a wall. Then he grips her hip with his free hand, raises his head from her neck, and presses himself against her with intention. “Tell me, Betty.”

 

She gasps at the contact. “The shorts,” she says, tugging on his hair again. “I know you like my legs so I wore shorts.”

 

“Damn right I do,” he says in a near-growl, pulling his hand from her bra. He reaches down, grips her upper thighs, and lifts her up so she can wrap her legs around his hips. He presses her back to the wall, tilts her slightly, and rocks his hips against hers. “You have the sexiest legs, babe. You know me so fucking well, don’t you?”

 

“Yes,” she whines, holding tightly onto his shoulders. “Please, Juggie, I’ve been thinking about this too.”

 

 _Jesus fucking Christ._ Jughead hopes that means what he thinks it does. “Have you?” he challenges, his eyes falling to her one partially exposed breast. “When?”

 

“All week,” Betty answers quickly, gasping again when Jughead presses himself to her. She tightens her legs around him, seeking more friction. “Whenever I touch myself.”

 

“Oh fuck, Betty,” he blurts, setting her down on the ground as quickly as she’ll let him. His hands come to the hem of her shirt where hers had been minutes earlier, but this time he tugs it up and off of her body, letting it fall somewhere near the couch. He takes only a brief moment to appreciate how nice both of her boobs look in the new bra, then drops his fingers to her shorts and fumbles with the button closure.

 

They fall to the floor a moment later, and Betty kicks them toward her shirt before yanking Jughead’s off. “God, you’re hot,” she says unexpectedly, earning an unprompted chuckle from him.

 

“Feeling’s mutual, sunshine,” he says, taking advantage of the brief reprieve to catch his breath. “C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom.”

 

Betty nods and turns to walk down the hallway. His eyes fall naturally to her ass - he’s only human, okay? - and he immediately notices the high-cheeked cut of her matching panties. Jughead is immensely proud of the fact that he manages not to immediately grab her ass; rather, he waits ten seconds until they’re in his bedroom, then comes up behind her and slides his hand over it.

 

“This looks really good too,” he says into her ear, squeezing her ass. “You look like sin.”

 

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Betty says softly, arching her back to help Jughead unhook her bra.

 

It falls to the floor. Jughead slides his left arm around to her front and cups her breast in his hand. “It’s a good thing,” he assures her in a gentle tone, pressing a delicate kiss behind her ear. “You look like an angel, too,” he adds almost as an afterthought, letting his thumb caress the impossibly soft skin.

 

It’s not the first time he’s touched her like this, so reasonably Jughead knows he shouldn’t be nervous. But it _is_ the first time he’s doing it with sex as the ultimate goal, and he wants to make sure she’s comfortable. So he leads her over to the bed, props himself up against the headboard, and gesture for Betty to join him.

 

He takes a brief moment to memorize how gorgeous she looks in the dim light, standing by his bed in only a pair of lacy nude panties, before she climbs up on the bed with him. Jughead pulls her to lay between his legs with her back to his chest, and murmurs, “You okay?” in her ear. He kisses her shoulder when she nods wordlessly, then brings both hands to her chest and continues to gently fondle her breasts.

 

He’s always handled Betty with care, taking note not to push her or rush her, so he’s very grateful for the soft, breathy noises of pleasure that she’s making. He kisses the side of her neck, trying in vain to nose stray locks of her hair out of the way, and pauses when she giggles. “Let me get it,” she says, sweeping her hair to the opposite side. “There.”

 

“Thanks, babe,” Jughead says, kissing her ear. He cups the undersides of her breasts and catches both of her nipples between his forefinger and thumb, rolling gently and kissing her neck before he pinches them.

 

The only way that ever-articulate Jughead can think of to describe the noise that Betty makes is as a squeak. “Juggie,” she gasps urgently. _“Please.”_ She squeezes her thighs together and then opens them, slipping one of her hands between her legs.

 

“Let me, let me,” Jughead chants, letting go of her right breast and tugging at her wrist. Betty obediently removes her hand, wiping her fingers on the sheets, and he slides his hand into her underwear. She’s wet and warm and this is his fucking dream come true, to have Betty breathless in his bed with his hands on her. He circles her clit with his thumb to start, carefully noting her squirming slightly against him, and presses his lips reassuringly against her neck. “We can stop anytime,” he reminds her, briefly stilling his fingers.

 

 _“No!”_ Betty blurts with such force that it startles Jughead. He glances at her sidelong and notes the mildly sheepish and wholly distracted way she bites her lip, her eyes still closed. “Sorry, I - your hand was a little cold. Don’t stop.”

 

Jughead smiles and slides his fingers along her slick folds. “Yes ma’am,” he reports, hastening the press of his thumb. He rests the side of his head against hers and teases a finger at her entrance, giving her another chance to ask him to stop.

 

Instead, Betty drops her hand onto his leg and taps his bent knee three times in quick succession. So he closes his eyes and slides one finger in, listening to her quick intake of breath. He pauses again, letting her adjust, and then continues working his thumb on her clit and fondling her breast once she gives a nod and utters a breathy, “It’s good.”

 

“You feel so good,” Jughead groans into her ear, adding a second finger and giving her breast a hard squeeze at the same time. “So fucking good, baby, I can’t wait to be inside you.” He catches her earlobe between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue, and when Betty moans at the unexpected sensation, he curls his fingers inside her.

 

 _“Oh,”_ she gasps, bucking her hips at his hand. “Please Juggie, _please.”_

 

He keeps a steady rhythm with his fingers and thumb, chanting encouraging nothings like “come on baby” and “come for me, Betty,” in her ear. Finally, he pulls his fingers out and brings one to work with his thumb. She’s incredibly sensitive now, and the extra touch is enough to send her over the edge. Her back arches slightly, her breath catches, and she lets out a quiet cry of pleasure.

 

As soon as she comes down from the high, she’s blushing, but it’s the hottest thing Jughead has ever seen in his life and she has nothing to be embarrassed about. He slips out from behind her, hastily undoes his jeans and drops his boxers, and finds a condom in his wallet. Betty is laying boneless on the bed, but she lifts her hips to help him slide her panties off - he’ll have to wash them before she goes home - and she manages a blissed-out, sweet smile when he climbs beside her again with the condom rolled on securely.

 

“That was amazing, Juggie,” she breathes, opening her eyes slowly. “Your turn.”

 

 _“Our_ turn,” Jughead corrects her, kissing her softly. “You good?”

 

“Never better,” she says, her green eyes watching him carefully as he moves down the bed and hen tugs her hips toward him.

 

He positions himself at her entrance. “This might hurt a little, so just tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

 

Betty nods, sucks her lower lip between her teeth, and flutters her eyelashes at him. “I know,” she answers softly. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much, I promise.”

 

Jughead watches her for a moment, then nods and begins to slide in slowly. She gasps once he’s about halfway and her face contorts into a slight wince, so he stops moving to let her adjust. It feels like the best combination of pleasure and torture possible until she nods her assent for him to move again, and once he’s inside her he could swear it’s the best moment of his life.

 

“You’re so incredible, baby,” he says, lowering himself down onto his elbows so he can kiss her. “You feel amazing.”

 

He scans her face carefully, looking for signs of discomfort or pain, but she just gives him a little smile and tilts her head up for another kiss. “You can move,” she says.

 

So he does, slowly at first and then more rapidly. It takes them a little while, but they find a rhythm together, her hips rising in time with his as he rocks into her. Betty bites her lip a few times and at first he’s worried that he’s hurting her, but then her head falls back and she lets out a quiet moan.

 

Jughead props himself up on one hand so that he can slip the other between them to help her along. It changes the angle slightly, and the next time he thrusts into Betty, he feels impossibly deeper. She gasps, clenches her muscles around him, and he sees stars. The pace picks up but still, they move together. Eventually, the sway of her breasts becomes more intense, and the next time Jughead drops his eyes from Betty’s, he notices that she’s fondling her chest. The visual sparks something new, and he works his fingers harder. Her eyes are half-closed, her full lips parted slightly as she lets out short, halted breaths. She’s never been more beautiful.

 

He refuses to come until she does, but if it doesn’t happen soon, his body might not cooperate. But just then, she starts to flutter around him, and the imagine of her coming apart again is enough to send him following just behind her. He falls to his elbows, trying desperately not to collapse on top of her, and manages to pull out and roll to the side. He lays there until he catches his breath, then quickly gets up, disposes of the condom, and returns to Betty’s side.

 

But now, she’s crying.

 

“Betty, Betty, hey,” Jughead says, immediately hovering over her and grabbing her face. “What’s wrong?”

 

Betty swallows visibly and shakes her head. She raises her hands and wipes the tears from her cheeks, but a stray tear leaks from the corner of her eye and he watches it fall to the pillow. “I don’t know,” she confesses in a whisper. “That was so - I’ve never felt this way before.” She lifts her hands and covers her face. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Jughead says, gently tugging her hands away. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t apologize. How--” he stops, swallowing hard. The idea that he hurt her somehow - despite watching for the signs - is devastating. But she needs him to be there for her right now, not to retreat into his natural tendency for self-loathing. “Can you explain more? Did I - did I hurt you?”

 

Betty turns her face to his, wide-eyed. “No, god, _no.”_ She looks horrified that that’s even in his thoughts, even with tears in her eyes. “The opposite, Juggie, that felt - it’s hard to explain. Like … like I was full. I didn’t know I was even empty before.”

It hits him like a ton of bricks, and he exhales in relief. “Oh, Betty,” he sighs, then kisses her soundly. He wraps his whole body around her before covering both of them with the blanket. It’s quiet for awhile before they start talking again, and when he falls asleep hours later it’s with her in his arms, wondering if it’s possible to fall in love with somebody you’ve only known for a few months.

  


* * *

  


_・ six weeks later ・_

  


“Jug, Betty’s here!”

 

Jughead glances up from the script he’s holding, his lips still silently mouthing his lines for the last scene of the day. Archie is standing in the doorway of his trailer, one arm hanging over the back of the built-in sofa. “What? She’s not supposed to be here until - oh shit. ‘Til right now.” He sets his script on the table. “Where is she?”

 

“I think Ronnie kidnapped her,” Archie says, scratching his neck. “Melissa brought her puppy again, so--”

 

“Got it,” Jughead chuckles, picking up the script again and relaxing back into the seat. “The girls are obsessed with that puppy.”

 

“It’s a cute puppy, Jug.”

 _Duh._ Jughead gives Archie a look. “Uh huh, yeah, I understand the appeal of puppies. But that does buy me ten more minutes to memorize the rest of these lines. Don’t let Ronnie corrupt her into the dog thing too hard, her mom will kill me.”

 

Archie gives him a mock salute and disappears again, closing the door behind himself. Jughead resets his focus on his script, then gets up and walks around his trailer while reciting the lines. Usually, he’s a lot better at learning his lines than just beforehand, but he’d been shooting a more action-heavy scene the previous few days and when he’d gotten home he’d had no energy left to look at his scripts.

 

Well, okay, not _no_ energy - he’d had enough to see Betty two out of those three days. She’d stayed over both nights, including the previous one, but somehow it still wasn’t enough. He also knows that she needs to get up early tomorrow to help with a day trip to a craft market that the retirement home had planned, so she probably wouldn’t be sleeping over again. So early that morning, with his head still buried between her thighs, he’d asked her to come to set so he could take her for a late dinner immediately after he was done filming. She’s visited him a few times in the last month or so, and Jughead counts it as a huge plus that she seems to finally feel comfortable enough now to do so.

 

Jughead’s phone buzzes with a text from Betty just as he’s getting ready to go find her. It’s a picture of her with the makeup artist’s puppy and the simple caption **_PUPPIES!_ ** , which he responds to with a simple smiley emoji and **_be right there, babe._ **

 

Everything is perfect, except for the fact that he only has a couple of months, max, left in Riverdale. Once they wrap, he has a movie booked that’s supposed to film for a month in Montreal, but as he steps out of his trailer and goes to find her, he wonders if he can drop out and just stay here with Betty forever.

 

He finds her in the craft services area with the puppy on her lap and Veronica nearby, who looks devastated at not being able to hold the dog. Jughead can imagine the wrath of their costume department if fur - or god forbid, pee - found its way somehow onto her wardrobe immediately before a scene.

 

“Hey babe,” he greets, crouching down beside her and readying himself for a kiss hello.

 

Instead of kissing him, Betty nuzzles her face deeper into the soft fur of the (yes, adorable) puppy’s neck. “You’re a cute little sweetheart, yes you are,” she coos. “Isn’t she _precious,_ Juggie?”

 

Jughead imagines he must look affronted, because Veronica laughs at him. “How does it feel to be replaced?” she asks, tilting her head teasingly.

 

“Shut up, Ronnie.” Jughead sticks out his lower lip exaggeratedly. “I can share attention, unlike you.”

 

Veronica clutches her heart dramatically. “You wound me, Forsythe,” she declares, then glances up when an assistant calls her name. “Looks like we’re on. Don’t worry, she won’t even know you’re gone.”

 

“Yes I will!” Betty says, more to the dog than anything. Finally she manages to look at Jughead, gives him a quick peck, and then scratches the puppy’s ears. “I’ll be here when you’re done,” she says.

 

She’s smiling, and her eyes are bright and happy. He wants to see that exact face every moment of every day, forever. He doesn’t give a shit where they are - Riverdale, LA, New York, fucking Idaho. He just wants to have her by his side, to spend time with her, to let her in on some of the pluses of his world and to be there when her own dreams come true. He’s ‘in pretty fucking deep’, as Archie had told him a couple of weeks earlier, and it’s both exciting and terrifying.

 

Jughead rubs the puppy’s head for a second and then stands up to follow Veronica. He wonders if Betty would want him to stay here, or if she’d think he was crazy. Or even better - would she want to come with him to Montreal? He knows she’s got a deferred acceptance to Columbia, but that’s not until late next summer. She has the time to come to Quebec after February - or anywhere, really, if she wanted to.

 

He’s hit with the sudden recollection of a conversation they’d had months earlier while picnicking in one of the state parks. He misses the weather of those days, when he could go outside without putting a jacket on first and when swimming outdoors was a legitimate possibility, and he realizes that there’s a way they can have that again, especially once spring comes.

 

Jughead pulls his phone out, sends himself a reminder text to do some preliminary research later tonight, and then heads toward makeup for a quick touch-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to find a little bit of time to get this one out. There will be a few more chapters after this - not quite sure how many, but it's definitely winding down. I still hope to finish this before Riverdale premieres on the 11th, but I can't make any promises. Thanks to all who have read and left comments; please do so again, it really is encouraging!


	12. twelve

_ I walked across this farmer's field and I looked up to the blue-white sky   
_ _ And your eyes they were in my mind, and I just want to hold on to you _

  * Blue Rodeo, “Side of the Road”



  
  
  


Betty stretches across the bed, reaching her fingertips up to the headboard and extending her toes toward the foot of the mattress. She points and then flexes her foot, lets out a tired groan, then relaxes her muscles and rolls onto her back. She looks up at Jughead, who is busy choosing which of two identical plaid shirts to pack into the open suitcase beside Betty’s feet, and sucks her lip into her mouth so she can chew on it thoughtfully. 

 

It’s nearly Christmas now, and Jughead is packing to go back to LA to see his sister. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks, so it’s not like Betty will never see him again, but by that point it’ll be January and after January it’ll be February and that’s when she  _ really _ will never see him again. Time is passing like it always does, and while six months ago Betty would have welcomed its forward march with open arms, now that she has Jughead it just seems like a cruel trick.

 

The  _ really  _ shitty thing about it is that she’s fully and completely in love with Jughead now, and she’s not even trying to pretend otherwise. She hasn’t told him, because even if he feels the same, they have an expiration date.  _ Best before,  _ just like the milk in her fridge. It’s a little better than  _ use by,  _ although some days it does feel like that’s what the universe is doing to her. She’s a grand experiment, as if whatever energy that controls everything had at one point thought, ‘What would happen if we put a girl through hell, have her start to heal, then introduce a great guy, have him be supportive and kind and introduce her to amazing new experiences, and then ultimately take him away from her?’

 

Some days, Betty really hates the universe.

 

If Jughead is feeling the pinch of time, he’s not letting on whatsoever. He still kisses her with the promise of a tomorrow, still smiles and looks at her like they have all the time in the world, still spends time with her family as if there’s some kind of a future between himself and their daughter and he wants to keep their approval. Betty supposes this is better than him being openly maudlin and sad, but it does hurt a little that he’s probably going to be able to move on fairly easily while she’s left behind, broken like always.

 

She had a long discussion with her therapist, who encouraged her to talk to Jughead about her feelings. At least all the cards would be on the table, she’d said. Betty had dismissed that fairly readily, knowing that that sort of a conversation would only be useful if there was any way for them to move forward together. Which of course, there’s not; he will go do a movie in Montreal and then home to California and afterward to whatever exotic locale will host the next project he’s in, and Betty will go to university on the other side of the country.

 

So instead, Betty has been trying very, very hard to focus on the bigger picture and enjoy the time they have left together. When Jughead is at her parents’ house watching her and her dad fix his old ‘55 Thunderbird, Betty tries to lean into the teasing and good-natured ribbing about his mechanical incompetence. She tries to live in the moments that he kisses her, tries to memorize the feeling of going to sleep and then waking up in his arms, tries to freeze time when he slips inside her and they’re one once more. 

 

It hasn’t been going that well. There’s a nagging voice in Betty’s head now that she can’t get rid of. It reminds her that every kiss is one of their last, that the calmness he brings will soon go away, and that the press of his body can’t last forever. It invades their quiet moments in the early morning and breaks the happy reverie she’d once held, and some mornings it’s all Betty can do not to start crying and really freak Jughead out. She’d almost teared up a couple of days prior, when her sister, newly home from school for Christmas break, had taken a photo of their dad and Jughead together. Because as badly as Betty wants these memories, a part of her wonders if it might be easier to move on if she doesn’t have any of them.

 

A fruitless approach, she knows, because she’s never going to be able to forget anything about Jughead.

 

“Blue plaid or darker blue plaid?” Jughead asks, holding both shirts up to his chest and flashing a teasing grin at Betty. “And before you can say it, yes I know, the diversity is overwhelming.”

 

Betty gives him a small smile, too sad to summon anything more. “You look great in both,” she says, and of course it’s true.

 

“Both it is,” Jughead decides, dropping them unceremoniously in his suitcase.

 

She sits up and almost automatically reaches over to grab them. She begins to fold the lighter one and feels the ridiculous threat of tears hot behind her eyes. Maybe she can steal one of them, she thinks, and that can be her comfort when she needs it.

 

“Babe, it’s flannel, it’s not like it’s going to … Betty?” Jughead stops and looks more closely at her. “Are you okay?”

 

The question breaks the dam at her eyelids, and despite her horror, the tears begin to fall. Betty opens her mouth to dismiss any forthcoming concern, to let him know that she’s just feeling baselessly emotional, but the words catch in her throat and all that comes out is a strangled gasping noise. And that’s the  _ worst,  _ because now she’s clutching his shirt and burying her face in it and there’s probably snot and he thinks she’s crazy  _ for sure.  _ Who cries over folding a shirt? How is she going to explain this? Who can’t handle their boyfriend going home for Christmas? 

 

The mattress sinks a little. He’s beside her and then suddenly she’s in his arms, her wrists caught between their chests and his hands rubbing her back. “Betty, sweetheart, talk to me,” his voice urges. “What - did I - what’s wrong?”

 

Betty hiccups against Jughead’s shoulder, her breathing still choppy. “Nothing,” she manages to say, but all she can think about is how the next time she cries about this, maybe he won’t be there to hold her. Maybe he’ll be across the country, or across the world, with a different hairstyle and new lines in his head. Maybe he’ll be holding somebody else.

 

“Baby, please tell me.” Jughead has pressed forward. “I can pack the green one if you hate the blue ones this much.”

 

That earns him a slight chuckle despite herself, and Betty takes the opportunity to gulp in air and calm her breathing. Jughead rubs her back in broad circles, slow and steady. She’s still clutching his shirt, the soft flannel threaded through her fingers. He’s still looking at her half-expectantly, so Betty sighs and tries to inhale again before speaking.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” she finally says quietly.  “I’m just sad.”

 

Jughead kisses her jaw softly. “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, Betts, but maybe I could--”

 

“Not then,” Betty interrupts, shaking her head. “I get that. It’s …” she trails off, sniffing, and pulls herself out of his arms. She slides off the bed and walks over to her backpack, where she digs out a slim wrapped gift that she’s been carrying around for a month now. She stares at it for a moment and then hands it to Jughead, who accepts it with concern still swimming in his blue eyes.

 

“What is this?” he asks.

 

“For you,” she says quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed near him. “It’s … just something to remember me by. If you want.”

 

Jughead stares at her hard, his forehead crinkling with what must be realization. His lips part slightly, but instead of speaking he looks down and tears the paper at one end. A frame slides out, the nicest one she could afford. It’s a photo of the two of them from their trip to the state park in summertime, a cute selfie where he’s posing with his arms around her. There’s a weightless smile on her face, representative of all the burdenless days he’d given her. On the back, she’s written a short note:  **_Thank you. Love, Betty._ **

 

She wants him to know what a gift he’s been, but she will never have enough words.

 

Jughead’s eyes are locked on the photo. “Are you breaking up with me?” he finally asks.

 

The words wrench through her heart like an emotional knife.  _ “No,”  _ Betty says quickly. “I - I want you, right to the end. This is just because … well, because there  _ is  _ an end, isn’t there?  _ Sweetwater  _ isn’t filming forever. Then you’ll go back to LA, and I’ll be here for a bit and then in New York at school.” She pauses for a moment, her voice unsteady, then continues with a clogged throat. “I wanted to tell you what you mean to me, what you’ve done for me. But I can’t, because it’s too much. And you deserve to know what kind of an amazing person you are. You don’t have to remember us, if that’s - if you don’t - but I want you to know that you made, and make, a difference for me. And this picture was the best way I could think of to do that.”

 

Jughead sets the frame down on the bedspread and rubs his hand over his face, sighing heavily. “Jesus, Betty. You think I’m going to break up with you when  _ Sweetwater  _ ends?”

 

It feels like an accusation, and Betty starts chewing her lip again. “I don’t know, I - I thought - yeah, I guess.”

 

“Baby,  _ no.”  _ He leans over, grabs her face, and kisses her. It somehow relaxes her a little even with all of the confusion she’s feeling, and when Jughead pulls away, Betty looks at him for clarity. He’s shaking his head. “I am  _ never  _ letting you go, baby. Not until you don’t want me anymore.” He puts a hand on her knee for a moment, then gets up suddenly and goes over to his closet. 

 

Betty watches him root around in the corner. Her heart is racing with the possibility that she might get to keep him, that there might me some way around all of the obvious logistical roadblocks that Betty had thought spelled the end for them. He emerges from the closet with a shoebox and sets it on her lap.

 

“Sorry it’s not wrapped,” Jughead apologizes. “I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, I was gonna wait until Thursday before I go, but - in light of  _ this,  _ now is as good a time as any.” He nods his head at Betty, who looks at him for guidance. “Open it.”

 

Betty looks back at the shoebox and gingerly removes the lid. One by one, she pulls out several items inside. There’s an old-fashioned map of United States highways, a woman’s flannel shirt, a (very small, she notes) yellow bikini, and finally, a car key. She sweeps her eyes over the items for a few minutes, trying to piece it all together. She ultimately fails and looks at Jughead. “I don’t understand. You want me to model flannel shirts with a bikini underneath?”

 

Jughead reaches over to his bedside table and grabs the laptop that’s sitting there. “I mean yeah, I’m definitely into that idea.” He sets the laptop beside him and opens it. As it boots up, he reaches over and hauls Betty toward him, settling her securely against him. “If you wanted to start wearing bikinis and flannel together, I’m not going to complain,” he teases, slipping his hand underneath her pajama top. “But no, I mean - this.”

 

He shows her the screen of his laptop, on which he’s pulled up a page from a motorhome and recreational vehicle dealership. The item in question is a retro-style Volkswagen campervan, with bucket seats in the front, built-in cabinetry, a small sink and stove, and a convertible double bed in the back. The word  **_SOLD_ ** is stamped over top of the dealership’s advertised price. Betty swallows as she begins to put the pieces together. Him.  _ He  _ bought it.

 

Jughead’s hand cups one of her breasts. “I’m going to fly to Montreal for a month to do that movie I told you about,” he says, squeezing gently. “But then I have from the middle-end of March until about the middle of June where I have deliberately not booked anything. A couple photoshoots here or there that I can work around. But I’m going to do what I always wanted, Betts. I’m going to drive around the country in this van.” He kisses her jaw, his thumb rubbing gently over her nipple. “And I want you to come with me.”

 

Betty is so shocked that she manages to only be mildly distracted by his hand under her shirt.  _ “What?”  _

 

“I talked to your parents already,” Jughead continues, trailing kisses down to her neck. “I knew they’d be worried, and if there was really no chance then I didn’t want to pursue it. And they were worried, yeah -  _ are  _ \- but I argued that you’ve been doing so well these last few months, babe. If you’re healthy enough, you should get to spend some of your gap year doing something fun. And they agreed.”

 

Betty is dumbfounded. “They agreed?” she repeats, automatically lifting her arms to help Jughead remove her top.

 

He lays her back on the mattress gently. “I have to get Wifi for the van, and your mom gets to call anytime she wants to, but yeah. They agreed with me, and you’re an adult and you get to make your own decisions. So if you want to, I would love for you to come with me.” Jughead stretches out alongside her, covers her breasts with his hands, and drops a lazy kiss to her stomach.

 

Betty stares down at him. What he’s basically proposing is that they live in a van together for three months before he has to start doing press for  _ Sweetwater.  _ It sounds fucking insane. “Won’t it be cold?” she blurts.

 

“I have some places picked out,” Jughead says. “Mostly along the southern coast, because yeah, it’ll be spring. But I’m all for cuddles under heavy blankets - and of course, renting hotel rooms if necessary - if you are.” He looks at her with what can only be described as a hopeful expression. “You can take all the time you need to think about it.”

 

Betty nods slowly, knowing that she should spend some time going through it in her head, and maybe talk to Polly and her therapist, just to make sure it’ll be healthy for her. It seems like it should be - new experiences, new people, but with  _ Jughead,  _ who has made her feel more herself than she has in a long time. But still, it’s a big decision. She can’t just make it right now.

 

But then she meets his eyes again, watches the quirk of his lips, and focuses on the gentle burning low in her stomach as his hands and mouth move southward across her body. And  _ fuck it,  _ for once in her life, this is for her.

 

“Yes.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Jughead leaves the following Thursday for Christmas in LA with his sister. Betty stays home with her family, enjoying this last holiday season before everything inevitably changes - even leaving things with Jughead aside, at this time next year she’ll be one semester deep into her journalism degree. She talks through the trip with her parents, and of course, Polly, just in case. Nobody tries to talk her out of it; on the contrary, even her mother seems marginally excited for her. Her sister especially is encouraging, repeating ad nauseum that Betty deserves this, she’s earned it, and this is ‘her time’. 

 

(Whatever that means.)

 

The rest of their time in Riverdale goes by in a blur. Jughead does a couple of photoshoots while he’s in LA and keeps her updated by sending her ridiculous selfies. He eventually returns to Riverdale in early January, just in time to finish up the last couple of weeks of shooting  _ Sweetwater.  _ It’s not lost on Betty that just weeks earlier, she had predicted these to be sad days; now that the road trip is on the horizon, that sadness has been replaced by excitement, mild anxiety, and intense planning.

 

They still have about six weeks to get everything together, but Betty has launched herself headfirst into Planning and Research Mode. It becomes apparent that Jughead is more of an ideas man than he is a details man, so Betty spends much of January making lists and sublists of things they they’ll need, things that they can buy ahead of time, things to be aware of, and things to pick up along the way. She sends Amazon link after Amazon link to Jughead, who purchases whatever she chooses and has it shipped to her parents’ house.

 

Polly’s empty bedroom quickly becomes a repository for “stuff to pack into the van”, including quick-dry towels, space-saving containers, and backup tools in case Betty needs to do a little quick mechanical work on the van. She asks Kevin to help her plan a capsule wardrobe to bring with her, and he comes over armed with his laptop and his discerning eye. They make a pile of clothes that are the perfect blend of versatile and flattering, and draft a list of a couple more things for her to get.

 

At the end of January, the crew of  _ Sweetwater  _ hosts a wrap party. One week later, the entire production, including Archie, Jughead, and Veronica, are gone from Riverdale. The town is returned to its pre-fame self almost immediately. On the surface, Betty can almost pretend like nothing ever happened, as if a Hollywood movie didn’t roll into town and take over everything. She never stepped onto a set, never met anyone, never played the welcome-party for a crew of new kids that just happened to be famous. Plain old boring Riverdale, the same now as it has been for seventy-five years.

 

But then Betty’s phone buzzes with a message from Jughead in Montreal, reminding her that her life has been forever changed. And for the first time in a long time, this change feels like a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left! Thank you guys so much for all your feedback.


	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second-to-last chapter!

_"No place is ever as bad as they tell you it's going to be."_

  * Chuck Thompson



  
  


“If I don’t get a cheesesteak soon, I’m going to die.”

 

He and Betty are in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the first stop of their haphazardly planned cross-country road trip. The only reason it’s even planned at all is because of Betty, so it’s not like he should be making demands or questioning her itinerary, but he’s _hungry._

 

Besides, they’ve been here for two days, and Jughead still hasn’t had a cheesesteak. Before, he was in Montreal for a month, filming a supporting part in an indie film. He’s pretty excited about that project as well, even though it was a much smaller time commitment than _Sweetwater._ Of course, much of his time there was spent thinking about his upcoming adventure with Betty, who for her part had dived headfirst into planning. So immediately after that film wrapped, he’d picked up the van, gone to Riverdale, and spent a few days staying at Betty’s parents’ house while they packed up and got everything ready.

 

They’re not actually staying in the van yet, mostly because it’s the middle of March and it’s still cold in Pennsylvania. Jughead has hotels booked for the first couple of places primarily for this reason, even though the van does have a heater and they could get an electrical campsite. After DC, he doesn’t think he’ll have to stay in any more hotels, so whatever. He doesn’t care. It’s not like it’s put a detriment on his vacation so far to have running water and readily available toilets.

 

On day one, they saw the Liberty Bell, went to Independence Hall, and visited the Betsy Ross House. Today, day two, they haven’t seen anything. They’d gotten a bit of a later start and for that Jughead places the blame completely on Betty. After her shower, she’d decided to walk around their hotel room in a flimsy, pale pink underwear set that was legitimately fucking _see-through._ It had taken Jughead all of six seconds to remove the delicate lingerie from her body, but he’d spent significantly longer than that with his head between her thighs afterward.

 

(He’d subsequently also discovered that the lone armchair in the room provided great leverage when she was bent over the back of it, and ultimately they’d both needed to take second showers.)

 

So now it’s noon, and apparently Betty wants to go to the Franklin Institute. While Jughead is also definitely interested in going - he likes science and museums as much as the next guy - he’s pretty goddamn hungry, and that needs to be addressed first or there’s a not-insignificant chance that he’s going to waste away into nothing. But when he relays this concern to Betty, she’s less than sympathetic.

 

“We have lots of time to make up. There are these cool gardens I still want to go to and I don’t know if we’ll have time tomorrow with the _It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia_ tour.”

 

Jughead tugs at Betty’s arm. “But I’m _hungry,_ Betty,” he says, widening his eyes in an attempt to look as innocent as possible.

 

She glances up from her phone, where she’s been examining directions away from their hotel. “You should’ve thought about that earlier and kept your hands to yourself,” she informs him, turning back to the screen.

 

His jaw drops. “I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” he says, sliding a hand onto Betty’s thigh. “In fact, I think I heard you agreeing - very enthusiastically, actually-”

 

_“Juggie.”_ Betty’s cheeks flame red and she glances quickly up at the concierge in their hotel lobby, who is not watching them. “Fine, okay. We’ll get cheesesteaks.”

 

They go to a place called Dalessandro’s, a hole-in-the-wall delicatessen that Google informs them has some of the best cheesesteaks in Philadelphia. Jughead has to get one. He’s in _Philly._ It’s basically his duty as a food connoisseur. And once the big mess is in his hands, he’s happy.

 

He eats all of his and half of Betty’s, then they get an Uber to take them to The Franklin Institute. They spend a surprisingly interesting three and a half hours there, wandering through the various exhibits and halls. There’s a special temporary exhibit on the Terracotta Warriors of China, which Jughead finds fascinating. He’d had a chance to see a similar exhibit a few years ago in Los Angeles, but it had left before he’d managed to get down to see it, and he’d always regretted dragging his feet.

 

They finish the day at the famous steps from the movie _Rocky,_ where they get an older lady who clearly has no idea who he is to take a photo of them reenacting the jumping scene. Then, tired, they head back to the hotel to change. Weeks ago, Jughead made reservations at a fancy restaurant called the R2L Restaurant and Lounge, which Veronica had told him featured incredible views. They’re going to spend the next few months living in a cramped van and eating whatever is easiest to cook over a fire, so even though a fancier retreat like this wasn’t exactly part of the original plan, Jughead figured it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like they won’t make up for it later.

 

Jughead is tugging on a pair of slacks - the only ones he’d brought, which he has half a mind to mail to Archie’s apartment in LA after tonight, since he won’t need them - while Betty is in the bathroom getting ready. He knows that Veronica had made her borrow a dress, given that she was the one who’d recommended the restaurant to him, but she’d taken it into the bathroom to change so that she wouldn’t mess her hair after putting it on. He’s in the middle of tucking his shirt in when he hears a gasp of horror from the bathroom.

 

“Oh _no,”_ she moans.

 

Jughead frowns and finishes tucking his shirt in. “What’s wrong, babe?” he calls, hoping it’s nothing serious.

 

Betty gives another heavy sigh, then she walks out of the bathroom. She’s still barefoot, and her hair is only half-curled, but she looks fucking amazing. The dress is tight to her hips and pretty low-cut - it _is_ Veronica’s dress, after all - but if he’s allowed to be crude about his own girlfriend, her body looks insane in it, so he has no idea what the problem is. If anything, it’s him who’s going to have to worry about the entire male population of Philadelphia staring at her when they go out to dinner.

 

“Betty, I don’t see what the - oh.” Jughead peers a bit closer, and winces when he notices what the now-obvious issue is. There, on the inner curve of her left breast, is a very visible, angry-looking hickey. He looks up at Betty’s face sheepishly. “Sorry.”

 

“What am I supposed to do?!” Betty asks him, half-wailing. “Juggie! This is the only nice dress I brought!”

 

“Can you put makeup on it?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Betty looks down at the mark. “I’ll try,” she says, and goes back to the bathroom. She comes out five minutes later, having mostly covered it, and makes a face at him. “Is it okay?”

 

“Definitely passable,” Jughead assures her. “Nobody will know, unless they’re particularly staring at your boobs. Which in this dress, they might be - but don’t worry,” he adds hastily upon seeing her face, “I’ll pull the overprotective boyfriend thing on them.”

 

She gives him an unamused look, then makes him promise not to make marks like that if he’s going to take her out somewhere nice later, and he agrees.

 

(Later, he sucks bruises into her thighs instead.)

  


* * *

 

They spend a couple more days in Philadelphia, then move onto Washington, D.C. Betty’s plan has them not staying here as long, and after a couple of days Jughead understands why. As interesting as all the museums and monuments are, by the end of the week he and Betty are both pretty over American history and politics being the featured tourist attractions.

 

They end up taking a bit of a longer route toward West Virginia, but when they arrive the weather is already worth it. Betty ditches her jacket in favour of a warm sweater, and on an overcast day, they go to Lewisburg to go on a tour of the Lost World Caverns. Jughead has mild claustrophobia, so he’s been dreading this particular experience ever since he’d seen it on Betty’s list, but then there’s the giddy expression on her face as they explore the caves and the way that her hand clutches his the entire time, and it’s worth it.

 

(He takes a deep breath of fresh air once they’re back outside, anyway.)

 

West Virginia is also where they start to finally camp. They end up at Summersville Lake, known for its beautiful cliffs and all the nearby swimming holes. While Betty starts to set up their site, Jughead takes a little wagon that he’s stowed at the back of the van and goes to grab some firewood from the communal pile a quarter-mile down the road. He glances back, notices her tying a clothesline between two trees, and can’t help but smile with the knowledge that this is the sight he gets to see for the next three months.

 

It’s obviously rained recently, and even though the pile of wood is beneath a cover, much of it is still wet. It takes Jughead fifteen minutes to sort through and load enough dry pieces into his wagon, and by the end of it he finds himself wishing that he hadn’t forgotten to bring his heavy gloves with him. He makes his way back, picking a couple of splinters out of his palm, and as he walks up he can see Betty clipping a couple of towels they’d used earlier to the clothesline to dry.

 

He looks sideways into the van and notices that she’s also managed to get some fresh vegetables washed and ready to cook with the steak that they’d bought for that evening’s dinner. She’s remarkably efficient, he notes; it’s definitely going to be useful on a trip like this.

 

Jughead pulls the wagon beneath some trees, sets up a little tarp, and unloads the wood. Instead of chopping it right away, he leaves the pile and walks over to the picnic table, where Betty is pulling out the seasoning for their steaks. He slips his arms around her waist and drops a kiss to the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. “Hi.”

 

Betty turns to face him and giggles as he peppers kisses across her forehead, trying not very hard at all to catch her lips. “Hi,” she says, biting her lower lip as his fingers press against her lower back.

 

“I love you,” he tells her suddenly. The words slip out casually, like he’s said it everyday for years, and hang in the air for a moment.

 

Then Betty’s jaw twitches, and she smiles and says, “I love you too, Juggie.”

 

He kisses her softly, then leaves to chop the wood. After a few failed attempts at starting a fire, he gives up and lets Betty do it. Once it’s hot enough she grabs the steaks, seasons them, and sets them on the fire.

 

As they eat, Jughead looks over at her as she struggles a little to cut the steak on her lap. She’s biting her lip and has her face contorted into a small frown of concentration, and _yeah,_ this is what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

After a beautiful week in West Virginia, where they’d spent time exploring the many swimming holes when it was warm enough and rowing across the lake in a rented canoe when it was not, Jughead and Betty pack up their campervan and head south to Chattahoochee National Forest.

 

They set up their camp in Tallulah Gorge State Park, which is one of the only areas that Jughead specifically chose on Betty’s list. It’s beautiful, with vast forests that surround waterfalls and high suspension bridges, and all he can think of is standing with Betty on one of them, looking out at the world that they can conquer. Betty seems excited about it too; she’s been talking about it since they were in West Virginia, rattling off facts about the bridges and the views and mentioning all the pictures that they could take.

 

Jughead is totally down for whatever photographic experiences Betty wants to have, but once they set off on their first hike, he knows there’s no way he’ll ever forget this place.

 

They pack lunch, water, and snacks in a backpack, then Jughead slings it over his shoulders and follows Betty down to a specific trail. Her hand is clutching a printed map and a permit, because apparently this hike is the kind of one that she had to actually get a _fucking permit_ to do. The first part seems normal, with some mild elevation and great views, but midway through they end up descending down toward the gorge floors and pausing on a platform by the thundering base of a large waterfall, and Jughead suddenly understands why not just anyone should be down here.

 

It’s incredibly gorgeous, but far more strenuous than Jughead had bargained for, and he’s already hungry by 10:30.

 

Betty has another decidedly less difficult hike (or so she promises) planned for the afternoon, so they stop at a picnic area to have a prolonged lunch. As he lays out a blanket from the backpack, Jughead is reminded of the first time they did this together, so many months ago in New York. This time, the sandwiches are less fancy than the Italian kind she’d made back then, but the views are more extraordinary and the connection between them is even deeper.

 

He wouldn’t trade it, not even for bocconcini.

 

“Do you remember when we went to that state park in New York last summer?” Jughead asks her, his mouth half-full of ham and cheddar.

 

Betty smiles at the memory and nods at him, her cheeks flushing slightly pink. “You wouldn’t quit grabbing my ass that whole day. Do you remember _that?”_

 

He shrugs, reaches over to squeeze her thigh, and winks at her. “Still can’t,” he reports. “It’s a really good ass.”

 

She laughs at him, then snaps a photo of him mid-bite. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Jones,” she teases, grabbing a piece of celery from the container that’s set between them. “And you’re lucky I love you.”

 

“That’s for damn sure,” Jughead agrees, watching as the sun catches in her hair, glinting dully like spun gold here in the forest in Georgia. He’s lucky indeed, he thinks, but then there’s another invading thought: a memory, distant, of a poem from Robert Frost he’d studied years ago. He swallows, pushing it away, and smiles at Betty.

 

_(Nothing gold can stay.)_

  


* * *

  


Mornings in the van are Jughead’s new favourite thing, especially with the top up to vent and the light streaming through the windows by their bed. It’s been pretty chilly at night in all the places they’ve been so far, so every morning he’s woken up with Betty tucked into him as far as she can go, her face buried in his neck and her arms around his waist. Sometimes he’s the one wrapped around her, and they wake up facing the same window, the blankets pulled to their necks and his hand underneath her shirt.

 

That’s what happens today, except instead of the birds and the gentle sunlight lulling him awake, it’s Betty screaming.

 

Jughead wakes with a jolt, sits up immediately, and looks around in a bleary, half-awake haze. His eyes fall on Betty, who is backed into the corner with a pillow clutched to her chest. She points a shaky hand toward the window, so Jughead raises himself up higher and immediately looks out.

 

There are a few people running away from their van, toward the road that divides the campsites from each other. A crowd is beginning to form there, mostly young people with cell phones and excited voices, and Jughead’s heart falls.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, grabbing his cell phone. He checks twitter first, and sure enough, somebody has posted the specific park and campsite number that he and Betty are at. They’ve even had the gall to _tag him_ in it, like he’s not a person and this isn’t his private life. He gives a heavy sigh. Obviously, they’re going to have to leave.

 

He glances over at Betty to tell her to start packing up, but the words die on his lips when he sees her. She’s breathing erratically, nearly hyperventilating, and shaking. Her hands are clenched tight into fists, nails undoubtedly digging into her palms, and her lips are trembling.

 

On instinct, Jughead grabs her hands and starts to uncurl her fingers. Her knuckles are tense but he manages to straighten them with some difficulty. He glances over his shoulder at the window as he speaks soothingly to Betty, first settling her palms flat on her knees and then rubbing her arms gently. His instinct is to wrap his arms tightly around her, but he has a feeling that that won’t help much yet, so he continues to use a soft voice and say things like “it’s okay” and “it’s over”, even though it’s not either of those things. Not yet.

 

Eventually, Betty shakes her head a little and ducks it low. She starts to breathe carefully, three beats in and four out. Jughead moves his hands from her biceps to her shoulders and rubs them as he nervously checks the growing crowd. He keeps repeating that he loves her, that it’s okay, that she should breathe, and after ten minutes Betty raises her head again, looks at him, and starts crying.

 

At this point, he pulls her into his arms, turning them on the bed so that she can’t see anyone through the window, however distant they may be. He rubs her back in broad circles and kisses her hair. He waits until her crying subsides a little before removing one arm from around her and using it to pull out a pair of leggings and a hoodie from the previous night. He presses them into Betty’s chest.

 

“Baby, you gotta get dressed, okay? Then start the car and I’ll grab everything outside, and we’ll go, okay?”

 

Betty nods quietly. Jughead returns the nod and slips off the bed, closing the curtains that separate the bed from everything else. He pulls jeans and a flannel shirt on, not bothering with an undershirt, and then gets out of the van.

 

Jughead collects their outdoor chairs, his hatchet, a pot that’s been drying, and various other small items that they’d left outside the previous night. He and Betty had been planning to stay here another few days, so there are clothes hanging on a line, too; he pulls them down and shakes his head at the increased noise coming from the people at the road. Some of them are calling his name, even. He ignores them, brings the armful of clothes and the line into the van, and then stacks the chairs and everything else beneath the bed at the back.

 

Betty is already waiting in the passenger seat when he climbs in the driver’s side, the engine running. Jughead squeezes her hand briefly, then peels out of the campsite, barely stopping to ensure that the crowd scatters to let them pass. Betty keeps her head low, her fingers shaking on her thigh, and _god,_ he fucking hates this.

 

Five minutes out of the campground, she quietly says, “I don’t think I can do this.”

  


* * *

  


After a quiet hour on the highway, Jughead pulls over in the parking lot of a Walmart in Athens. He hasn’t been able to say anything to make Betty feel better, and so even though her panic attack has passed, she wants to talk to her therapist.

 

So here he is, with laced-up sneakers and athletic shorts, out for a run near the highway while Betty has a Skype call with New York. He wishes he could reassure her that nothing like that would ever happen again, but he can’t - this, the way that people react to him and his presence, is the part of his public life that he can’t control. He does think it’s a bit odd, though; they hadn’t even run into anyone the previous day who had seemed to recognize him. No photos with fans, no autographs; usually, it’s somebody who has a picture with him that outs his location. He’s beyond furious, of course, but anger is so rarely useful, so he’s trying to keep calm.

Jughead’s feet pound the pavement, but it doesn’t help. He’s worried that Betty is going to want to stop their trip, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her. Being woken up by people staring at them is nobody’s dream, and for her he’s sure it was terrifying. Especially in a secluded place like a campground, where the isolation is part of the appeal.

 

He stops at a local coffee shop, because they haven’t had breakfast yet either. He gets scones and americanos and brings it back to the parking lot, where he finds Betty sitting in the van with her feet hanging out the open passenger window. Soft music is playing from the radio, an awful country twang hanging in the air.

 

Jughead leans into the window, hands her a coffee up and the bag of scones, then puts his hand on her foot. “Hey, Betts.”

 

Betty takes a sip of the coffee and lets out a moan, her eyes fluttering shut briefly. “God, is there espresso in this?”

 

“Yeah.” He squeezes her toes. “How was the call?”

 

“Good.” Betty opens her eyes and looks at him. “I talked it through with her and I think I feel okay. I don’t like what happened - at all - but I want to keep going. She reminded me that loving somebody doesn’t only mean taking the good from a relationship and leaving the bad. And I guess for us … well, the fame thing is definitely the bad for us.”

 

Jughead nods slightly in agreement. “Yeah,” he echoes. “Definitely.”

 

“But that’s your _life,”_ Betty continues, peering up at him from her perch in the seat. “That happened because of you - I was just there. You don’t deserve to have that be your life. But since it is, I don’t want you to face it alone.” She gives him a little smile. “So I want to keep going.”

 

Jughead lets out a sigh of relief and leans against the van, his arms falling through the window. “Thank god, baby.”

 

“I do want to alter the itinerary a little, just - I feel a little paranoid.” Betty winces sheepishly. “Maybe we could go to the beach earlier than planned. Skip the rest of Georgia, go straight to the coast of Florida?”

 

“Anything you want, Betty,” he says automatically, reaching toward her. She leans up and kisses him, her smile wide when they pull apart. “And we’re definitely going to sleep with the curtains drawn from now on,” he adds, handing her his coffee to set in the cupholder. He walks around to the driver’s side, gets in, and looks over at Betty. “Onwards?” he asks.

 

She smiles and takes his hand. “Onwards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this, guys, then that's all she wrote.


	14. fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! jeemyjamz has created a little something to accompany this last chapter. I'll update these notes with the link when it's posted.
> 
> Edit: link is [here](https://jeemyjamz.tumblr.com/post/165723394115/bughead-au-insta-edit-w-actorjughead)!

_‘how is it so easy for you_  
_to be kind to people’ he asked_  
  
_milk and honey dripped_  
_from my lips as i answered_  
  
_‘cause people have not_ _  
_ been kind to me’

  * Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey



  
  


Betty loves summer. Bright colours, the weather, all of the outdoor activities readily available. In Riverdale, she has to wait through the months of winter in order to get to the haze of spring, but this year she got to skip through. And now, in mid-April, she’s wearing a bathing suit and has the heat of sunshine on her back.

 

They’ve spent almost two weeks in Florida, first making their way south down the east coast. They stopped in Miami briefly to see some filming sites and do a little shopping (most of which she’d had to ship home to her sister anyway), then continued north along the west coast. Betty’s favourite place in the whole state is now officially Cape Canaveral, in part because of how funny it had been to watch California-boy Jughead try and fail miserably to surf, but also because of how incredibly fascinating the Kennedy Space Centre had been.

 

Today is their last day in Florida, and the last beach day for awhile. Betty’s been pretty spoiled with all of the ocean access, but they’re going to be going inland for a while until they hit California, so she’d insisted on spending the day laying out on the sand. Unfortunately, the need for food eventually won out over the need to do nothing on the beach, so now they’re walking back to the little van. Their home away from home, complete with a little _home is where the heart is_ magnet that Betty had stuck on the tiny fridge.

 

Jughead’s arm is slung lazily over her shoulder. With only flip-flops on her feet, he’s quite a bit taller than her, and it strikes her as surprising every single time. Betty’s wearing loose shorts over the little yellow bikini he’d bought her for Christmas, mostly because the bottoms are straight-up basically just a thong, and there are kids at the beach. (There are actually quite a lot of thongs too, she’d noticed, but Betty still feels weird about having her ass hanging out in public). She’d brought a t-shirt to go over top, but it’s scaldingly hot outside right now, so the shirt is in her tote bag along with Jughead’s shirt and their beach towels.

 

When they finally reach their site, Betty figures she should go change so that she can wash and hang their bathing suits. It’s Jughead’s turn to figure out what they should eat, but she already knows it’ll be hot dogs, because they have literally nothing else left to eat, and need desperately to hit up a grocery store. Instead, she steps into the van and Jughead’s hand brushes her back.

 

She’s about to turn to ask what he needs when the door slides shut, and suddenly her bikini top loosens and falls to the floor. He’s staring at her, his blue eyes dark.

 

“Oh,” she says softly, then she’s silenced by a kiss.

 

His hands are on her, pushing at her shorts and then grabbing happily at her ass. She slides hers up his back and giggles into his mouth at his eagerness; clearly, he’s been suppressing something all afternoon.

 

“You laughing at me?” Jughead asks against her lips.

 

“Just a little excited, are you?” Betty giggles, leaning back slightly.

 

Jughead shakes his head at her. “You obviously don’t know what you look like in a bikini. If it wasn’t for those kids on the beach it would’ve gotten x-rated real quick out there. Now shush,” he says, kissing her again.

 

She obeys, falling back on the bed with him and double-checking to make sure the curtains are closed before she lets him untie her bikini bottoms. Betty tugs at his trunks, too, then grabs a condom from the small built-in drawer beside their convertible bed and flips them so he’s on his back.

 

“Now who’s eager?” Jughead challenges, his hands coming to grip her hips as she situates herself above him.

 

Betty rolls the condom on, then slides down and closes her eyes at her favourite fullness. “Shut up,” she says, and begins to roll her hips with his.

 

Sex with Jughead is her favourite thing ever, she’d decided months ago, and this is her favourite position to do it in. She does love when he calls the shots, but she loves even more when she gets to be the one in control, so nowadays they seem to end up more like this than any other position, but she’s yet to hear a complaint from him about it.

 

His hands reach up to cup her breasts as they begin to move more rapidly, his thumbs wonderfully rough against her nipples. She drops her head and rolls it in a circle to stretch her neck, loving the way that his hand reaches up toward her neck when her chin is tilted furthest away. The same hand drops between them before long, fingers working to send her over the edge, and then him soon after.

 

Betty stretches out beside him on the bed, their bodies half-covered by a blanket. One of her breasts is left bare by the sad attempt at modesty, and Jughead’s hand soon comes to fondle it lazily.

 

There are still a number of unanswered questions in her head about what’s going to happen when their trip is over, but she knows that she loves him, and for once that’s enough to quell her nerves.

  


* * *

  


From Florida, they go to New Orleans, then make a haphazard sketch across the southeast, hitting Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, and some places in Texas along the way. Betty’s new favourite place is Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee, at least until they get to New Mexico, and then it’s quickly Albuquerque.

 

“That’s because of _Breaking Bad,”_ Jughead says upon informing him of her new ranking. “You just liked seeing all the filming sites.”

 

“So did you,” she accuses, shrugging a sweater on over top of her tank top. They’re entering Colorado now and it’s getting a bit more chilly with the mountain air. Jughead apparently has plans for them to camp a few times and then has revealed to her that they’re staying at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, which might be a new contender to unseat Albuquerque. It’s the hotel that inspired Stephen King to write _The Shining,_ and like King and his wife years ago, Betty hopes they’re the only ones in it.

 

(They won’t be. She knows that. But she can dream.)

 

Before that, though, they’re spending a few nights in a campground outside of Denver. They arrive and get set up, then after supper Jughead banishes Betty to the van. She has to Skype her mom anyway, but she’s a little suspicious at why she can’t go outside. She wants to respect whatever his surprise is, so she doesn’t peek, but _god,_ it’s hard not to.

 

After she’s finished reassuring her mother that they’re both still alive, Jughead comes in and tells Betty that she can come out now.

 

She pulls a beanie over her head, grabs her heavy sweater, and steps out. Then - _holy shit._ He’s set up a projector - where the hell had he even kept the screen?! - and positioned two seats near the fire to keep them warm.

 

“I have two things to ask,” Jughead says nervously, guiding Betty to one of the chairs, which she sinks down on suspiciously. “First, I - okay, I don’t know how to ask this romantically or anything, but will you move in with me?”

 

Betty blinks. “What?”

 

“Right, sorry, I forgot a step there.” Jughead shakes his head and shoves his hand in his pocket. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen him this unsettled. “I know you’re going to Columbia. I also know that I don’t want to live across the country from you. I want to move to New York to be with you. And I want you to move in with me.”

 

“Oh, Juggie,” Betty breathes, her eyes welling with tears. “There’s nothing more in the world that I would love than that, but - are you sure? I don’t want you to make any sacrifices that will hurt your career.”

 

“I’m an established actor,” he says. “Lots of people have New York City as a base. It’s not like a lot of things shoot in LA anyway. I always wanted to live in New York. And … this is probably where I’m supposed to say something like, ‘I always dreamed of a girl like you’, but that wouldn’t be true. I never dreamed of you because I never thought that somebody like you could possibly be real, at least for someone like me. But then - there you were. And I never want to let that go.” Jughead swallows. “So, what do you say?”

 

Betty stands up and throws her arms around his neck in a tight hug, burrowing her face in him and breathing in the scent of warm flannel and cool air. “I say yes,” she tells his sweatshirt. “Of course, Juggie, _yes._ Oh my god. For real?!”

 

Jughead chuckles at what she imagines is probably a ridiculous expression of joy on her face. “For real,” he confirms, squeezing her waist. “I don’t know exactly when I’ll get all my stuff there, logistically, because I have press for _Sweetwater_ and this other movie and then I’ll eventually have to film outside of the city and stuff, but I’ll get someone to start looking for apartments near Columbia. Two bedrooms, in case your parents or Polly or my sister want to come visit.”

 

Betty nods and sinks back down into the chair, still in shock. Was it possible that everything in her life could fall into place like this? Where was the other shoe, and when would it drop?

 

“What was the other question?” she asked suddenly. “You said you had two questions.”

 

“Oh.” Jughead nods and gestures toward the projector screen. “Wanna watch a movie?”

  


* * *

 

_・two months later・_

  


“So wait, you’ve been living in a van with Jughead for three months and you actually still like him?”

 

Betty glances up from the lunch menu she's been perusing to give Veronica a look. “It isn’t that bad. He was surprisingly clean. You kinda have to be, when you’re in a space that small.”

 

“I suppose. I don’t know that I’m the kind of person that could deal with that,” Veronica says, crossing her legs primly beneath the table. “Though it does sound very romantic.”

 

Betty smiles at that and leans back in her chair. “It was,” she says. “Or, is. I guess it’s basically over.” She sighs and looks out at the ocean, already feeling wistful. They’re in Malibu, where she and Jughead had met up with Archie and Veronica. The guys are off surfing, and Veronica had suggested that they do lunch as a way both to catch up and to get Betty some “much-needed girl time”.

 

After Colorado, they’d stopped in Wyoming at Devil’s Tower. Aside from being an incredible area, the gorgeous natural wonder was also where the spaceship landed in _Close Encounters of the Third Kind,_ so it qualified as a film site on Betty’s half-hearted itinerary. Afterward, they’d taken the van south through Utah to the Grand Canyon in Arizona, which had been far more incredible and vast than Betty had even imagined it to be. She was left in awe, so much so that she hadn’t even been looking forward to Las Vegas afterward because nothing could top what she’d already seen.

 

And Vegas didn’t top it, not really. Betty isn’t twenty-one and even if she was, she doesn’t really consider herself to be the partying type. However, at this point they hadn’t been in a hotel since Colorado, and if she was being perfectly honest, she missed running water. So instead of camping, Jughead rented a suite at the Bellagio. It came complete with a comfortable sectional couch, a giant TV, a king-sized bed, and a gorgeous bathroom. They’d taken advantage of all of the amenities, especially the bed and the jacuzzi, and when they’d eventually left to go to Yosemite, it was with well-rested backs and neatly massaged limbs.

 

After Yosemite they’d hit San Francisco and then began to slowly make their way south down the coast of California, bypassing LA in favour of spending three weeks on the beach near San Diego. Of all the places they’d been, the SoCal beach wasn’t the most groundbreaking or interesting, but it _was_ the most relaxing. It was all late-night swims followed by fooling around under the moonlight in the van, early morning runs, and mid-afternoon beach time. Betty had even managed to stand up on a surfboard, and had teased Jughead that that meant they were now both equally good surfers.

 

But eventually, all good things have to come to an end, she knows. So they’re here in Malibu. Jughead had toured her around Los Angeles for a couple of days, but it didn’t have the same luster as the rest of their trip. Even though LA is his home, he doesn’t seem to have the same affection for it that she has for Riverdale, and Betty had come away with the sense that New York would be a good start for both of them.

 

Veronica makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “Don’t be sad, B. Look at it this way - this was one little adventure, and now you guys get to have a new one together. I still can’t believe he’s moving to New York! That’s so sweet. Who would’ve known?”

 

Betty blushes and takes a sip of her water. “I did,” she says, biting her lip. “From the start, he was so good to me. Then this trip … I dunno. It was everything I wanted it to be, even the shitty parts.”

 

“Yeah, I heard about what happened in Georgia.” Veronica makes a sympathetic face.

 

“Oh, that. Yeah, that was just awful.” Betty closes her eyes for a moment, not wanting to think about it. “But that aside - I’m talking more about the time the heater quit when we were in the Rockies. It was _cold._ We’re lucky it was an easy fix.”

 

“Jughead’s lucky you knew how to fix it,” Veronica corrects, laughing. She glances up at the waitress who has come to take their orders and smiles. “Grilled chicken and quinoa bowl, please.”

 

“I’ll have the same,” Betty requests politely. “Thank you so much.”

 

“Coming right up,” the girl says, then walks away. She has the kind of easy beauty of somebody who should be on TV, Betty thinks, and she finds herself wondering if everybody here is trying to make it in the business.

 

Betty looks out at the ocean again. She could get really used to this view - although of course, she won’t. Her view will be something different - the Hudson, if she’s lucky, or maybe the East - but that’s okay too. Her view will no longer be straight into the upstairs office of her parents’ neighbours, and that’s the important part. “So are you gonna come visit us when we’re in New York?” she asks Veronica, turning back to her.

 

Veronica nods. “Absolutely,” she says. “You guys have a place yet?”

 

“Not quite yet. After the premiere here, Jughead - and you too, I guess? - has to go to New York for press for _Sweetwater,_ so I’m going to go with him. I guess his manager got a real estate agent lined up and he’ll take us around to a few apartments. As long as they’re near Columbia, I don’t think I care much what they’re like. And as long as they aren’t too expensive.” Betty makes a bit of a face. She knows that Jughead would pay the entire rent if she asked him to - and truthfully, he’s probably going to end up contributing more than her, for sure. She has a partial scholarship to Columbia, but it’s definitely not enough to cover the costs of living in Manhattan. Still, she doesn’t want to mooch off of her boyfriend, even though she understands that he has the means to support her. She’s been doing that enough this summer.

 

It’s kind of odd, Betty thinks. Things have been tied up in a neat little bow. _Too_ neat, in her experience. Sure, she’s still getting a few mean comments from his fans online, and even from Cheryl and Reggie, who have recently started to bother her again. It doesn’t bother her as much now - it’s quite clear to her this time that it’s just jealousy, and honestly, Betty just feels bad for them.

 

She’s still waiting for something bad to happen to screw this all up, but it hasn’t happened. Maybe that’s what New York is for, she thinks. Maybe that’s where things will fall apart. Or maybe it’s where she’ll get to build herself a career, where Jughead will get to live his Manhattan dream, and where she and Jughead can make themselves a life.

 

_Maybe._

 

She’s just going to have to wait and see, and right now, Betty has never been more okay with that.

 

_**fin** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for following the story and the insta edits. Biggest thanks to the ever-talented jeemyjamz who was a great collaborator! 
> 
> Please leave a comment - the response to this (particularly initially) was pretty overwhelming and even though I seem to have lost a few of you along the way (at least reviews-wise) I have really enjoyed this experience and have lots of gratitude for everybody. This has been so encouraging.


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